


holy

by starfuckerval



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Biting, Cheating, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pain Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Roman Catholicism, Smut, Songfic, Unhappy Ending, drug addict!luke, tattoo artist!calum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfuckerval/pseuds/starfuckerval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael thinks that maybe he was too easy--too eager to have sex with someone outside of his marriage. His marriage wasn’t even bad, his husband was good to him, and their sex was good. Really good; it was enough to make Michael say “I do,” when seventeen-year-old Michael swore against marriage forever--but not this good. How could Michael say no to Luke anyhow? Luke had cocaine on his bathroom sink and a wicked look in his eye, and Michael always fell victim to bad boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	holy

**Author's Note:**

> based off "holy" by pvris. 
> 
> 8tracks playlist can be listened to [here](http://8tracks.com/rivergoth/h-o-l-y)

Luke is pretty sure that heaven is inside Michael.

When Michael’s hair is so sweaty, his red hair dye runs down his cheek. When his lips form an ‘o’ and he whines out Luke’s name. When his body writhes under Luke’s frantically, seeking a touch, a release. When he makes noises that are unholy, right under the portrait of Saint Peter in the cheap, middle America motel.

Michael is pretty sure he’s struck gold with Luke.

That the two of them have discovered something else entirely, a whole new world of sex that had never been found before they got in bed together.

Michael thinks that maybe he was too easy--too eager to have sex with someone outside of his marriage. His marriage wasn’t even bad, his husband was good to him, and their sex was good. _Really_ good; it was enough to make Michael say “I do,” when seventeen-year-old Michael swore against marriage forever--but not this good. How could Michael say no to Luke anyhow? Luke had cocaine on his bathroom sink and a wicked look in his eye, and Michael always fell victim to bad boys.

Michael’s wedding band on the bedside table reflects light from the motel lamp, little silver stars that light up the dismal room. Michael finds his own behavior immature. He’s twenty-five, not eighteen. Disconnected sex and lines of coke are beyond him by now.

In the last twelve hours, Michael has been fucked so hard that he has bruises on his hips, screamed into the dusty motel pillow, and come so hard that he cried. And his wedding band sat there, and watched Michael break all his promises.

“You’ve got a lot of tattoos,” Luke comments, speaking words that are far from what Michael is thinking about.

“Calum is a tattoo artist,” Michael says distantly, studying his warped reflection in his wedding band.

“Who?”

Michael’s stomach twists and turns. “My husband,” he chokes out. “I should get going.”

_**Yeah, you’ve got it all. But you’ve got it all wrong.** _

Luke makes an unhappy noise as Michael untangles himself from Luke’s spindly limbs that are taking up most of the bed.

Michael finds his clothes on the floor, scattered about unevenly. As he’s pulling them on, Luke whines some more. “When will I see you again?”

Michael groans a little. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. He smooths out his shirt. “I can probably get away this weekend.”

Luke smiles crookedly. “Good. My buddy can hook us up with some coke before then, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Michael slows his movements as he nears the bedside table, fingers reaching out for his ring. “Right,” he says slowly. “Coke.”

“Unless you want something different,” Luke is quick to amend Michael’s hesitation. “I can get us most anything, to be honest.” He props himself up on one elbow. His tongue pops out of his mouth and he plays with the hoop resting on his lip.

Michael slides the wedding band onto his ring finger and shakes his head. “No, no, coke is fine.” Michael finds himself uncomfortable with anything else, unless Luke brought him weed, which is something Michael is already used to from his college days.

_**No, you don’t know. You’re a poor, unfortunate soul.** _

Luke nods. “Okay. I can do that.”

Michael picks his briefcase up off the ground and starts ruffling through the papers, making sure everything is there. He takes careful breaths. “I’ll text you, okay?” he throws at Luke, glancing at him carefully.

“Yeah, of course.” Luke shows Michael a smile that lights up Luke’s entire face, reminding Michael why he keeps coming back. “I’ll see you soon, Mike.”

-

Michael gets home around 1AM, and the lights are still all on, meaning Calum waited up for him. Not surprising, considering how much Calum worries.

Their tiny little town house in the center of the city is always a little lit up--the city barely slept. But Michael can see a shadow moving in the kitchen window, presumably his husband cleaning the counter or re-washing the breadmaker to curb his anxiety of Michael’s whereabouts.

Michael locks his car and trudges up the path into his home, his stomach churning when he puts his hand on the doorknob. His wedding band looks up at him, and it seems to be grimacing, disgusted that it’s on Michael’s finger, that it belongs elsewhere.

Michael opens the door in a hurry, not eager to defend himself to a piece of jewelry. The low-lit house greets him with warm air and soft smells. Calum had lit a candle when he got home that had long since burned out, Calum too preoccupied to relight it or get out a new one.

“Mikey,” Calum sounds soft and surprised. He puts down the dishes in the sink and dries his hands. Michael closes the door behind himself and locks it before putting his things down by the door.

“Hey, baby, why are you still up?”

Calum nears his husband cautiously, his eyebrows drawn inward in concern. “Where have you been, Mike?”

Michael scrubs at his eyes with his fist. “I got held up at the office,” he says, waving his other hand at his briefcase by the door. “You know how Harry gets.”

Calum hums, but his facial expression doesn’t relax. “What did he need help with for so long?”

Michael has to act on his feet, and his heart speeds up in a panic. “Paperwork--we had a pipe break last week, and the bills and stuff--I think I’m getting a promotion too,” he rambles. “He ran me through the requirements for the position, and told me to go through the applications, but I think he’s testing me.”

Calum finally softens, buying the disconnected stories. “Oh, well that’s good,” he extends his arms towards Michael, who falls into them graciously. “You could have texted me, though,” Calum chastises, rubbing Michael’s back.

Michael yawns. “I know, I’m sorry,” he reaches up and rubs at his nose instinctively, hoping that there was nothing leftover from earlier.

_**You make it seem that you feel whole, so they don’t know.** _

Calum kisses Michael’s neck softly. “While you’re awake,” he starts to suck softly on the skin behind Michael’s ear, and Michael exhales slowly, tilting his neck back as if it were choreographed. “We should fuck. We haven’t made love in a while.”

Michael whines and grips Calum’s hips. He’s not sure if his body can take getting fucked again, and hopes he can get away with topping, at the very least. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

Calum groans. “Not ‘til the afternoon.”

Michael complies reluctantly, letting Calum’s hands tug on the buttons of his work shirt. It’s wrinkled, which was Luke’s doing, his hands always rough and desperate. Michael’s muscles tighten.

Calum feels it and coos. “You’re tense,” he comments. “You need to relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Michael lets him. They’re married, so he lets him. Despite himself, he loves Calum enough to let him. Calum doesn’t comment about the bruises on Michael’s hips, and Michael is more than certain he passes them off as Michael being clumsy.

Michael lets himself love Calum during and after sex, and they lie together like puzzle pieces when it’s over. Before they fall asleep, Michael pulls his wedding band off and sets it on his nightstand. Calum mirrors his actions, his gold wedding ring placed next to Michael’s silver one. Calum’s looks shiny and soft and innocent next to Michael’s, who has seen far too much.

Calum mumbles something into Michael’s shoulder after he cleans them both off, and Michael grumbles. “Huh?”

“I asked if we’re going to mass this week,” Calum says lowly, tracing the tattoos on Michael’s shoulder.

Neither of them are religious anymore, per se. They both grew up in the catholic church, and both of them (but Calum more than Michael) stick to old habits, no matter how little the church recognizes their marriage.

They’re not devout by anyone’s standards, and Michael more or less tags along with Calum to make his husband happy, but Michael has found himself in a confessional more than once by his own choice, and Michael is constantly finding Calum praying in the privacy of their bedroom, a rosary between his fingers.

Michael sighs. “Yeah, if you want.”

Calum frowns. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I know it’s not your favorite thing.”

Michael shrugs and his stomach churns at how willing Calum is to oblige to Michael’s wants. “No,” he amends. “We can go. I don’t mind.”

Michael feels Calum’s frown dissipate, and his tone is much lighter. “I’m glad,” Calum looks over Michael’s body to the clock that tells them it’s 2:46AM. “We should get some rest,” Calum presses his lips to Michael’s chest. “I love you.”

Michael rubs Calum’s back. “I love you too,” he turns off the bedside lamp, and they’re both encaptured by darkness. Michael rolls away from Calum. They sleep on the same bed, but Michael is miles away, his head elsewhere, where Luke is snorting coke and taking off his shirt.

_**You’re a poor, unfortunate soul.** _

-

Calum lights a cigarette on the way home from mass, and Michael thinks it’s funny. Calum swats his chest and mumbles something crude and Michael just laughs harder.

Calum talks about trying to kick the habit, and Michael just assures him that it’s not the worst habit. He doesn’t tell Calum, however, that he knows firsthand.

Michael already felt an itch to be with Luke again, and to get the chemicals in his system. He knew it was wrong, but he wasn’t strong willed enough to fight the urges. He sends Luke a text message that he wants to see him sooner, and then looks over at Calum.

Calum’s eyes are on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other holding a cigarette over the console. His eyes are shaded by sunglasses, but Michael can tell they’re squinted and concentrating on the road. His lips are making out the words of the song that’s playing on the radio quietly, and Michael almost regrets texting Luke.

He should stay home, with his husband, drinking wine and making love, rather than do drugs and fuck with a man he barely knows. But Michael knows he’s not strong-willed enough to do that. He’s not strong willed enough to resist the electricity that jolts him when his phone buzzes, a response from Luke.

He says that he can be at the motel tonight, and Michael can’t help but grin at his phone. “Hey,” he says, getting Calum’s attention. Calum turns the radio down.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna get a drink with Casey and Rena tonight, catch up a little."

"Oh," Calum says, casting Michael a sidelong glance. "That's alright with me, I work at the parlor tonight."

Michael hums and lays his hand over Calum's thigh. Calum takes a drag from the cigarette and blows smoke out the side of his mouth. Michael inhales the smell, and sighs. He wants to love this, to love Calum. And he does. He leans over and kisses Calum's cheek, who struggles to focus on the road. They both laugh.

He loves Calum. But it's not enough.

-

Luke throws back his head and cheers. He sniffles to make sure all the powder is down inside his body, no leftovers on his nose. He hands the rolled up dollar bill to Michael, nodding to it excitedly.

Luke is only wearing his boxers, leaning against the bathroom wall and watching Michael. Michael makes eye contact with him as he does his own lines, watching Luke palm himself and bite his lower lip.

Michael finishes snorting, and shakes his head, his red hair bouncing around. He feels it kick in almost instantly, running into his bloodstream and spiking his focus. He hones in on Luke, who’s already dropped his boxers and has his dick out. He’s stroking it and looking at Michael longingly.

“Eager much?” Michael teases, and he pulls off his shirt. He grips Luke by the back of his neck and pulls him in for a rough kiss. Luke’s stubble scrapes against his own, and he groans.

Luke responds by lifting Michael by the thighs and throwing him onto the bathroom counter, where their drugs once were. Luke is rough and hasty, fucking Michael hard against the sink. It’s nearly too much, Michael’s head rolling back and almost breaking the mirror. Luke comes too quickly, but doesn’t stop until Michael does too.

Luke isn’t done with Michael by far, carrying him out of the motel bathroom and throwing him onto the bed, under the portrait of Saint Peter.

They fuck for what feels like hours, both of them running off the energy of the drugs. When they’re finally done, they’re both covered in sweat and bruises.

The motel is low lit, and hazy with Luke’s cigarette smoke. Michael doesn’t remember Luke lighting a cigarette, but it must have been doing it for a while. Michael watches him, his features soft now, coming down from the high. He’s naked, and has a halo from the bedside lamp. He looks like an angel or a god, Michael thinks, but then reprimands himself. He can’t think like that.

He bends back to look up at the portrait of Saint Peter. What would he think?

“Are you religious?” Luke asks, though there’s no conviction behind his words, like he’s asking just to ask, not to seek an answer.

“I’m Catholic,” Michael says quietly. He lays back down. “My husband more than me. I go to church occasionally.”

_**You put on a faith facade, you think you’re holy when you’re not.** _

Luke smirks. “Ever confess about me?”

Michael glares at Luke, but it’s lighthearted. He laughs, but it disappears almost instantly. “Yes,” he admits. “Only you. Everything else I got right. I just had to fuck up something good in my life, and it was bound to be my marriage.”

“What’s wrong with your marriage?”

“Nothing,” Michael snaps. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Luke raises his hands in defense. “Whoa,” he says. “Chill. I was just asking.”

Michael sighs. “Are you? Religious, I mean,” he asks, changing the subject.

Luke takes another drag and shrugs, shaking his head. “No,” he says. “Too many rules. It wasn’t my style. If there’s a God, he screwed me over. I don’t want any part in what he has to offer.”

“What did he do to screw you over?” Michael asks, rolling onto his side so he can look at Luke fully, take in his glory while it’s there, displayed for him.

Luke exhales smoke through his nose and mouth slowly, contemplating his answer before speaking. “I’m gay, my dad left when I was nine, my mom got arrested when I was eleven, my boyfriend--” Luke cuts off, physically biting his tongue. “I don’t want to talk about him,” he stubbornly puts his cigarette back in his mouth, like it will stop him from speaking.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Michael says, propping himself up on his elbow and frowning.

Luke shakes his head and pulls the cigarette out with two fingers. He leans over to his side of the bed and puts it out in the ash tray. “It’s not serious. It wasn’t meant to be anyway.”

Michael averts his gaze. “You shouldn’t cheat on him, Luke.”

“Like you have room to talk,” Luke scolds, looking down at Michael with his eyes squinted. “Mr. Married Man.”

Michael inhales sharply, like he can suck all the air out of the room. “I don’t lead by example,” he mutters. He gets out of bed and starts to search for his boxers. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Luke snickers from the bed, watching Michael intently. “You don’t want to break this off, do you?”

The question weighs in the air, teetering between them. Michael stands up straight. “I’m afraid I don’t have the power to make that decision,” he says weakly. “I wish I did.”

_**I hate to break it to you, baby, but you’re simply lost.** _

Luke grunts. He lights another cigarette. “Your clothes are in the bathroom,” he reminds Michael, his tone suddenly bitter. Michael frowns when he reaches the bathroom, pulling on his boxers.

“I should get home, Calum gets off work in half hour,” Michael mumbles more to himself than Luke, snatching up his jeans from the bathroom floor. “When will I see you again?”

Luke’s mouth is preoccupied by his cigarette while he thinks. When he speaks, his face is obscured by the cloud of smoke he pushes out with hi words. “It might be a while,” he says distantly. “Next weekend?”

Michael groans and stops putting his clothes back on. He can’t help the way his stomach drops. He leans on the bathroom door frame and pouts at Luke. “I don’t know if I can wait that long,” he complains. “Are you sure we can’t meet this weekend? Like we were going to?”

Luke grimaces. “I’m busy. Plans changed.”

Michael sighs and picks his shirt up from where it’s hanging on the bathtub lip. “Okay,” he sighs dejectedly. He pulls his shirt over his head. “Text me, yeah?”

Luke looks lost in thought. He puts his cigarette out and slides down onto the mattress. “Yeah.” He lays his head on the pillow, and closes his eyes until Michael leaves.

-

The smell of cigarette smoke used to make Michael think of Calum. When they were in high school, Calum was Michael’s first friend to start smoking for real.

They’d all had the odd cigarette, passed around at a party, but Calum was the first person Michael was friends with who started smoking on his own time. When he turned eighteen, Calum didn’t go anywhere without a carton of Marlboros, his cigarette of choice.

Michael never picked up the habit, but Calum went everywhere with the smell following him. Michael used to chastise him, telling him it caused cancer, but Michael doesn’t have the same kind of passion anymore.

Calum sucks in on the cigarette and hums. They’re sitting side by side on their porch, watching the city move along in front of them. Calum’s fingers are wound with Michael’s, and his thumb is sliding over Michael’s knuckles softly.

“Smoking kills, you know,” Michael mumbles, watching Calum’s profile, no conviction in his tone.

Calum grunts and swivels his head around to look at Michael, a weary expression on his face. “So do cars.”

Michael laughs. “I’m just not looking to get rid of you anytime soon.”

Calum chuckles and kisses Michael’s temple fondly. Michael hums back in response, a smile resting on his face. It’s gentle, it’s quiet. Calum puts the cigarette out on the ashtray beside them, laying on the porch. He rests his head on Michael’s shoulder and slides his eyes shut, content.

Michael pretends he doesn’t feel his chest tighten with guilt. _Cocaine_ kills, cocaine ruins lives. That’s what Calum would say, if he knew. That’s what Calum would say if he were the one getting high with Michael. It’s the kind of thing he used to say, back when he had first started smoking and Michael was much more into weed than he is now.

_**You can right all the wrongs, just to feel you belong.** _

Michael feels separate from the Michael who was getting fucked in the motel the night before. He wonders if it’s a different person entirely, and he’s just seeing into his life through visions and dreams.

But he knows that’s not the case. He’s heard Luke whine his name and moan it into his shoulder when he came. He’s seen his own reflection in the motel bathroom, sweaty and crumpled, the after-high taking over his features. He knows that even now, with the boy he loves and he’s married to on his shoulder, he would leave to be with Luke if he asked. To feel the chemicals in his system. To feel bruises formed on his thighs. To feel whole again, even if just for the night.

-

Meeting Luke had been like a dream. Not in the good, floaty magical way. But in the sense that Michael wasn’t entirely sure if it was real or not.

He was tipsy, just enough to make the room spin when he stood, in some bar off Main Street he was at with his co-workers. He didn’t really like them, but they offered to buy him drinks and Michael would never say no to that.

Luke had been in the corner of the bar, some girl hanging on him, her curly blonde hair creating a curtain in front of Luke’s face. Michael didn’t notice Luke for a while, engaging in boring conversations with his coworkers for what felt like hours, until the blonde girl finally gave up on Luke being unresponsive.

Michael focused on getting drunk for the primary parts of the night, taking shots and pretending his co-worker’s jokes were funny. He stayed in the bar after his co-workers left, not particularly thrilled to go home after the fight him and Calum had had the day before.

Maybe that’s why he let Luke buy him a drink. Michael can’t remember what the fight had been about, but he does remember sleeping on the lumpy couch in their living room, and the morning after being stone cold and bitter, just like the coffee Calum shoved in his hands before he left for work.

Luke was pretty and his skin was glowing under the bar lights. He ordered Michael his drink of choice, and then stood there, listening to Michael rant about Calum. His blue eyes glittered when he laughed, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.

Michael was drunk enough not to remember how, but sober enough to remember stumbling into the bathroom with Luke, lips desperate to cover every part of Luke’s body.

Luke sucked him off in one of the stalls, and then offered to take him home. Michael had declined, much to Luke’s dismay, but Luke had shoved his number on a napkin into Michael’s hand, insisting that he called when he got away from “that insufferable husband of yours.”

It had taken Michael weeks to call Luke. But Michael was weak, Calum was harsh and angry when he needed to be, and Luke was an easy out.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Michael’s knees already ache. “It’s been six weeks since my last confession.”

“What troubles you?”

Michael inhales lowly, deep in his chest like he can draw all his words out in one breath. “I’ve been sleeping with another man, outside of my marriage,” he says quietly. “When we’re together, we do… We partake in recreational drugs.”

The priest is quiet for a moment, thinking. “Are you addicted?”

“To the drugs or to the other man?” Michael says lightly, only half a joke, not sure himself of the honest answer.

“The drugs.”

“No,” Michael says. “Not the drugs. I would rather go without, but he doesn’t seem to want me any other way.”

“Do you regret your sins?”

“Of course I do,” Michael says, and that’s honest. “I love my spouse,” he says, always careful not to mention that he’s also married to a man. “I never meant to hurt them.”

_**Simply calling out sins won’t bring you closer to God.** _

“Perhaps you should seek some sort of counseling for your sins,” the priest says. “Conversion therapy would not do you harm.”

Michael bites his tongue in saying that it’s out of the question. In the end, the priest sends him away with fifteen hail Mary’s, and Michael thinks he got away easy.

The priest’s voice echos in his head on the drive back to his home with Calum, saying words Michael wishes he believed. “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

-

Michael doesn’t see Luke for a while. Partly because Luke was busy, but also because Michael was forgiven in the eyes of God, and he wasn’t keen to fuck that up.

He spent a lot of time with Casey and Rena, old friends from high school, getting drunk in Casey’s basement. They didn’t even bother going out, content to hang out alone. And Michael had the opportunity to feel the burn of alcohol in the back of his throat without worrying about his bank account.

Calum started picking up extra shifts at the tattoo parlor to make up for the money going to his smoking and Michael’s drinking, but they agree that it’s easier to fix the budget than to mend the habits.

Other than talking about the budget and going to mass together, Michael avoids Calum as much as he can, even though it’s unfair. He knows that Calum can tell, because he starts to get irritable.

“Mike,” Calum says one morning, over a particularly silent breakfast. Michael is trying to look as preoccupied in the newspaper as he can, shoveling eggs in his mouth with one hand. “Mike, are you listening to me?”

Michael grunts and takes a swig of his orange juice. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

Calum audibly sighs. “I asked what your plans were for today.”

Michael pushes his eggs around with his fork, his eyes flitting over the newspaper. “I work until seven,” he says vaguely, avoiding Calum’s tense glare.

“Are you going anywhere after?” Calum pushes.

Michael shrugs. “I’m not sure yet. I might go out with Casey.”

“Go where?”

Michael drops the newspaper and sighs heavily. “I don’t know, Calum” he snaps. “Get off my back, alright?”

Calum looks stung and he sucks in a breath between his teeth. “I just want to know where you are, Michael,” he bites back. “But do whatever you want. Do whatever you fucking want.”

Michael looks up at Calum, his eyes cold. “It’s not like I’m an adult, or anything.”

“It’s not like we’re _married_ or anything.”

They hold the glare for a while, Michael’s cold eyes boring into Calum’s hot ones, lit up with  anger. After a while, Calum can’t pull a response out of Michael, so he huffs and rolls his eyes, pushing his chair away from the table. “You’re such an asshole,” he mutters, standing up.

Michael stands up with energy, knocking his chair back and his fists balling up at his sides. “What did you just call me?”

Calum sighs in exasperation, shaking his head “Just go,” he says quietly. “Go be with Casey and Rena. Go get drunk, Michael. I don’t _care_.”

Michael knows he has no right to look or feel hurt, but he does. His face falls and his shoulders slump forward. Calum stares at him, his eyes wide and sad. The silence builds, and builds, and tension runs thick between them.

Michael’s fists relax, and his fingers open wide, his palms exposed and heavy. He wants to apologize, wants to beg for Calum to forgive him. But he can’t, he can’t force himself to choke up the words. He can’t force himself to tell Calum why he’s distant, why he’s drinking, why he’s never home, or who he’s actually with.

_**You’re just a ghost, at most, a set of empty bones,** _

So Michael leaves. Michael picks up his briefcase, leaves his eggs cold on the table, and leaves Calum alone, standing in the kitchen.

He gets in his car, and before he even puts the key in the ignition, he pulls out his phone.

 **to Luke:** _Are you busy right now?_

Michael waits, fiddling with his keys and tossing his briefcase into the passenger seat. Luke texts back almost right away.

 **Luke:** _nope. what’s up?_

Michael sucks in a breath, thinking fast. What is up? What is he thinking? He can’t miss work for Luke--he’s never once missed work for Luke, let alone Calum. His stomach twists with guilt. _Calum_.

 **to Luke:** Can I see you right now?

Luke starts typing.

 **Luke:** _i’m at home, you want to come here?_

Michael stomach churns. He lays his phone on his thighs and puts his keys in the ignition and turns it, the engine revving to life.

 **to Luke** : _what’s your address?_

Michael’s head turns, and he can see through the bay windows into the kitchen. He can see Calum, sitting back down at the kitchen table.

Michael’s phone buzzes, and Luke’s address pops up on the screen. Michael enters it into the GPS, placing his phone against the dashboard. His heart his thrumming, high in his chest. He feels the high he used to as a teenager, cutting class to make out with Calum in a utility closet.

He glances over his shoulder at Calum again, still inside. Calum is bent low, his elbows on his knees, and his head is dropped between his shoulders. His shoulders rise as he takes a big inhale, and Michael looks away before he can see him breathe out, knowing that his shoulders will shake, knowing that’s how Calum sits when he cries and doesn’t want anyone to know.

Michael puts his car into gear, and drives away.

_**Searching for anything, and everything, that makes you feel whole when it gets cold.** _

\--

Luke lives in a shabby apartment on the east side of town, surrounded by run down gas stations and tiny mexican restaurants, neon signs hanging over them advertising that they're open.

Michael makes sure he locks his car when he gets out, his feet landing on cracked pavement. It’s not unusual for Michael to be meeting Luke in a shitty part of town, but Michael had hoped that Luke’s house would be nicer (not that he expected it to, he knew how Luke probably got his money, and he knew that Luke was used to places like their shitty motel).

Michael knocks on the door twice, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. He’s missing work and meeting Luke in the morning, in broad daylight. In Luke’s _home_ , no less. He feels his stomach knot.

Luke answers the door slowly, but he does eventually, leaning up against the foyer wall and smiling crookedly. He’s in just his boxers and a t-shirt, a joint hanging from between his smirk. “Hey,” he greets Michael, his voice low and gravely.

Michael steps in and kicks the door closed, his hand pressing against Luke’s chest and pushing him back. He reaches up and takes the joint, putting it in his own mouth. He takes a long hit, and pushes Luke until he’s up against a wall.

“Hey,” Michael replies, blowing smoke onto Luke’s face. He holds the joint between two fingers, and his other hand cups the back of Luke’s neck, pulling him down for a rough kiss.

Luke leans down and pulls Michael’s body close with two hands on Michael’s hips, controlling his movements with the way his fingers dig into Michael’s skin. Michael bites down on Luke's lower lip and Luke breathes in sharply, breaking the kiss so he can suck in air.

“Someone’s eager,” Luke comments, brushing his stubble against Michael’s neck as he presses kisses down Michael’s jaw.

Michael shakes his head and takes another hit from the joint, focusing on the way Luke’s lips feel on his collarbones. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “Don’t talk. Why aren’t you naked?”

Luke laughs, low and deep in his throat and chest. He pulls away from Michael so he can take off his shirt. Michael continues to take hits from the joint, half-heartedly trying to take off his own clothes. Once Luke steps out of his boxers, his hands are all over Michael, tugging at his shirt. Luke gets Michael out of his clothes while Michael gets himself stoned.

Luke kisses Michael roughly again, pushing him until they’re in the dark living room. Luke shoves Michael onto the couch, breaking the kiss again. Michael shakes his head and stands back up immediately. “Me on top,” he mutters. He takes another long hit, and then pushes his mouth against Luke’s exhaling the smoke into his lover’s mouth.

Luke groans, turning them around and sitting on the couch, pulling Michael down with him. Luke blows the smoke out of his nose so he can keep kissing Michael, hot and needy, his hands running up and down Michael’s chest, against his jaw, gripping his ass.

Michael lifts his head and rocks his hips down. He holds the joint to Luke’s lips. “Do you want anymore of this?”

Luke wordlessly lifts his chin, his lips barely reaching the joint. He takes a long hit, his eyes hooded and dark, but never leaving Michael’s.

While he’s breathing in, Luke takes the joint. When he’s done, he reaches to his side and puts the joint out on an ashtray. His hands return to Michael’s ass, and he presses down, ordering Michael to roll his hips down again, sliding their half-hard cocks together.

Michael whimpers, his head dropping down and connecting his lips to Luke’s collarbone. Luke continues to control Michael’s hips, rolling them down into Luke’s, and Michael can feel Luke getting harder against his chest.

Michael sucks the spot on Luke’s collarbone, his teeth baring in and making Luke suck in a sharp breath. Michael smiles against the pale skin, biting harder. Luke’s hips buck up into Michael’s.

Michael feels his face light up with excitement. He lifts his head and chest up, but keeps his hips and his cock still rubbing lightly against Luke’s. Luke watches him with eyes unfocused, glazed over, stoned.

“Luke,” Michael says, his fingers brushing against Luke’s jaw. “Are you into pain, Luke?”

Luke whines, high pitched and effortlessly. Michael smiles, letting his hand slide down Luke’s chest, as his hips shape circles, grinding down on Luke’s cock. When his fingers reach the center of Luke’s chest, Michael digs his fingernails into Luke’s skin harshly, digging down into the flesh. He runs his nails down to his hips, leaving behind thick red lines.

Luke cries out and lifts his hips off the couch, his hipbones knocking into Michael’s. Michael smirks at the reaction. He sits up completely. “Where’s your condoms?”

“No time for condoms,” Luke whines, his eyes rolling up to look at Michael. “Please just get on my dick.”

Michael grins and reaches a hand down, wrapping his fingers around Luke’s cock. He leans down, his mouth against Luke’s ear. “You want me to ride you, Luke?” His breath fans out Luke’s hair. Michael grips Luke’s dick harshly, applying pressure and testing his boundaries. He nips at Luke’s earlobe, his teeth scraping against his skin.

He twists his wrist and releases some of the pressure, giving Luke a little friction. Luke groans again, this time in frustration. Michael smiles against Luke’s neck, biting into his skin again, moving his wrist agonizingly slow.

Luke makes unholy noises, thrusting up into Michael’s hand. Michael bites down harder into Luke’s shoulder as Luke fucks his fist weakly, too high to put effort into it.

Luke whines every time Michael’s teeth sink into his flesh, and he thrusts upwards just a little harder. Michael’s teeth reach the center of Luke’s chest and he stops, focusing on jerking Luke off.

Luke whines at the loss of Michael’s teeth and he lifts his head. “Mike,” he whines, getting Michael’s attention.

Michael slows, but doesn’t stop moving his hand on Luke’s dick. “What?”

“I want you to bite me.”

“I was biting you,” Michael says, confused, lifting his chest off Luke’s and twisting his wrist.

“No, Michael,” Luke says, shaking his head and taking shallow breaths, trying to focus on his words, but only moaning instead. “Michael.”

“What?”

Luke groans in frustration and a new fire lights in his eyes. His hand reaches up and grabs Michael by the jaw, pulling him back down, close to Luke’s face. Michael’s hand is pulled off Luke’s boner and he almost falls as he’s pulled down, catching himself on the couch. Luke hisses close to his face. “I want you to suck on my cock and fucking _bite_ it, Michael.”

Michael turns red. “ _Oh_ ,” he says in realization. He lingers for a minute by Luke’s face, and Luke’s grip relaxes on Michael’s jaw. “How hard?” Michael asks cautiously.

Luke licks his lips and watches Michael with bloodshot eyes. “Hard enough,” he mumbles.

Michael nods and moves down Luke’s body, making sure to nip Luke’s chest on the way down. When he reaches Luke’s cock, he hesitates. He’s sucked Luke off a hundred times, but for some reason he feels pressured.

Sensing his nerves, Luke runs a hand through Michael’s hair, and for a minute, Michael doesn’t think that Luke is the man he’s having an affair with. That maybe, instead, Luke is something more. But Luke’s words betray Michael’s thoughts, shutting them down instantly. “Come on, baby,” Luke says lowly. “Suck me off.”

Michael swallows hard, and licks the end of Luke’s dick, tasting precome on the tip. He lowers his lips onto Luke, swallowing down his length. Luke moans loudly at the heat around his cock, lifting his hips and pushing his dick farther down Michael’s throat. Michael places both his hands on Luke’s hips, pushing him back down, and glancing up at him in warning.

Luke closes his eyes and exhales as Michael begins to bob his head, wrapping his tongue around the body of Luke’s cock.

Experimentally, Michael glides his teeth along Luke’s dick, not applying much pressure, but enough that he knows Luke feels it. Luke whines. Michael looks up at him through his hair, and Luke looks down at him. Luke brushes Michael’s fringe out of his face, and watches him through hooded eyes.

Michael bites down just a little harder on his way back up, and Luke moans, loudly. “Fuck, just like that,” he breathes, his eyes squeezing shut. Michael does it again, and Luke throws his head back against the couch cushions, crying out.

Michael bobs his head, biting down on Luke’s cock every time he pulls up. Michael has to hold Luke’s hips down, afraid that the movement will make Michael will accidentally bite too hard.

Luke starts to moan louder, and tugging on Michael’s hair, warning him. Michael comes up, and kisses up Luke’s torso. “Do you still want me to ride you?”

Luke whines and nods. “Fuck, yeah.”

Michael lifts his body up and positions himself above Luke.

“Do you need prep?” Luke asks lazily, barely lifting his head.

Michael scoffs. “I’ll be fine,” he says, rubbing Luke’s chest reassuringly. He lowers himself onto Luke’s cock, still wet with precome and Michael’s saliva. Luke bottoms out, and Michael sits on Luke for a minute, shifting until he feels comfortable.

Luke stares up at Michael with a glazed over wonder, his hands lightly resting on Michael’s thighs. Michael almost forgets that Luke is inside him, and he gets lost staring at Luke. He thinks it’s the drugs, because him and Luke have never stared at each other, not really. Luke’s eyes are soft and dark and the least guarded Michael has ever seen them. Luke’s lips part, as if he sees something in Michael’s eyes. He exhales, and Michael thinks he might be speaking, but he can’t tell.

“Michael,” Luke repeats, blinking slowly, lifting a hand to touch Michael’s cheekbone.  

Michael’s stomach knots with guilt, Calum’s face appearing in his mind. He snatches Luke’s hand midair. “Shut _up_ , Luke,” Michael whispers, harsher than he expects. “Just shut up.”

Luke retracts his hand immediately, looking guilty, and places it back on Michael’s thigh.

_**No, You don’t know. You’re all alone.** _

Michael starts to move, rolling his hips slowly, gradually building up a grind. Luke closes his eyes like it hurts, and Michael pretends not to notice.

Michael fucks Luke until they both come, Michael spilling out onto Luke’s chest, white cum littering the teeth marks all over Luke’s body.

He lifts himself off, and generously cleans them both up with a t-shirt he finds by the couch. It doesn’t look like Luke’s; just a little too big and not a color Michael can imagine Luke in. Michael ignores it and tosses the shirt behind the couch.

He lays on Luke’s chest, setting his head right under Luke’s chin. “I missed work for this,” Michael mumbles, blinking slowly. “That was probably stupid.”

“Really stupid,” Luke agrees. He hesitates, licking his lips. “Do you regret coming here?”

Michael pauses, thinking. His brain is working slowly, short thoughts coming up instead of honest ones. “No,” he decides. “I really like _fucking_ with you, Luke.” he says, emphasizing the word ‘fucking.’

Luke sighs, lifting Michael up and down with the rise and fall of his chest. “Yeah,” he says unconvincingly.

_**You poor, unfortunate soul.** _

Michael’s eyes wander around the room. He didn’t notice before, but it’s too dark for the late morning. The windows are covered by black-out curtains, and the room is lit by only one lamp, in the corner by an old, clunky TV. The room and the couch both smell like cigarettes, and the coffee table holds only two ash trays, both of them littered with the ends of joints and cigarette butts.

Michael’s eyes fall to the carpet under the coffee table, to the coffee-stained, tan rug. Under it are two cigarette butts, an abandoned beer bottle, and a handful of Cheerios. Michael frowns.

“Do you eat Cheerios?”

Luke’s eyes open and he follows Michael’s line of vision. He laughs, kind of awkwardly. “For breakfast,” he says, closing his eyes again. “Why?”

Michael feels himself laugh, despite himself. “The Cheerios just seem out of place, and all.”

Luke shrugs underneath him. They say nothing else for a long while, and Michael almost thinks that Luke is asleep. Michael starts to rise, preparing to get dressed again, but when he moves, so does Luke.

They both sit up together, Luke’s hooded eyes following Michael. “Are you leaving?” Luke asks, frowning and knitting together his eyebrows.

Michael avoids making eye contact with Luke, and he stares at the Cheerios under the table. “I want to stay,” he admits. “Do you want me to leave?”

_**You can’t control where your body lets you go.** _

Luke looks vulnerable, and he closes his eyes. “Not really,” he says quietly. “I’m going to smoke a cigarette,” he announces, popping open his eyes. “On the porch. Ash--” he falters. “My landlord doesn’t let me smoke inside anymore. Do you want one?”

Michael frowns. He doesn’t smoke, he’s been a non-smoker his entire life, always fretting about Calum getting lung cancer. But for some reason, Luke looks at him with wide, vulnerable blue eyes, and they ask Michael to smoke with him, and Michael hears himself saying yes.

Luke finds his boxers in the foyer, and throws Michael his own. They put them on, and Luke pulls a carton of cigarettes out of a drawer in the kitchen, all the while, Michael trailing behind him, and picking up little details about Luke’s apartment. The linoleum in the kitchen is stained brown, the bottom row of cabinets have safety locks on them, there are boxes of tea by the stove, Luke keeps his cigarettes in a drawer that’s locked. If Michael wasn’t so high, he’d probably ask about all the locks, but he can’t find his voice.

Luke leads him to the back porch, and he closes the sliding glass door behind Michael. The wind is warm and soft, blowing Luke’s hair out of his face as he lights a cigarette. Michael leans against the wall and watches Luke, mesmerized.

Luke gives Michael a cigarette and a lighter, smiling crookedly. The vulnerable boy on the couch is gone, replaced by the normal Luke, the stoner with a crooked smile. Michael takes a cigarette and lights it, the unfamiliar taste of smoke in his mouth.

Luke leans on the porch railing and looks over at Michael, taking a drag. “So what made you skip work today, Mike?”

Michael inhales slowly. “I got in a fight with Calum,” he says. “I don’t even know what over. But I got mad, and he started crying, so I left.”

Luke wrinkles his nose. “He started crying?”

Michael shrugs and joins Luke on the railing. “He doesn’t do that often.”

“Sure,” Luke teases, squinting out at the parking lot his porch overlooks. “You and him, are you having problems?”

Michael laughs beside himself. “Well, I’m having an affair with you,” he says, laughing humorlessly. “What does that tell you?”

Luke’s smile falters, but then reinstates itself on Luke’s face. “That I’m irresistible?”

“Something like that,” Michael mutters, taking another drag from the cigarette. “You know, I told Calum I would never smoke.”

Luke grunts. “I told my boyfriend I would stop getting high,” he says, his tone suddenly dark. “Look at us now, eh?”

Michael looks over at him sideways, studying his face, his eyes low and his eyebrows drawn tight. “Your boyfriend,” Michael echos. “Does he live here too?”

Luke nods and puts the cigarette between his lips. “He just moved in.” He takes a drag from the cigarette and hangs his head.

Michael remembers the t-shirt that didn’t look like Luke’s, and understands. “He’s the one who doesn’t let you smoke in the apartment, right?”

“Yep,” Luke confirms.

“What’s his name?” Michael asks, only pressing out of genuine curiosity.

“Ashton,” Luke says. He lifts his head, red eyes on Michael. “He’s a really good guy, Michael.”

Michael’s eyebrow quirks up. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because we should end this,” Luke presses. His eyes are glassy all of a sudden. “You know that we have to, right?”

Michael’s lips press together in a white line. “Yeah, I know we do.”

Luke heaves a heavy sigh, and stands up. He puts his hand on Michael’s cheek, his thumb tracing Michael’s cheekbone, the way he did when they were fucking and Michael pushed his hand away. Michael doesn’t this time, though. “I wish I had the power to make that decision,” Luke says quietly, echoing Michael’s words from a few weeks ago.

It takes Michael a moment to register what Luke is saying, before Luke is bending down and kissing Michael, hard. He’s kissing Michael in a way Luke has never kissed Michael. Heavy, full of emotion, chaste, not rushed, not powered by cocaine, not a precursor to sex.

Michael drops his cigarette off the railing, forgotten, wrapping both his arms around Luke’s neck. He deepens the kiss, gently licking his tongue into Luke’s mouth. Luke’s other hand hold Michael steady by the small of his waist, fingers rubbing against the exposed skin.

They just kiss, tongues and lips moving together like it was rehearsed, perfectly slotting together like it was made to be that way, just the two of them, on the porch, smoke in their mouths.

Luke pulls away eventually, his lips red and swollen, and his eyes wide. Michael imagines he looks the same, and a lump forms in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Luke says awkwardly, dropping his arms and taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Michael says, surprised. “I don’t think… I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that.”

Luke’s expression softens. “You should get home,” he whispers. “Get back to that insufferable husband of yours.”

Michael laughs, high off the kiss and high off the drugs. “I guess I should.”

Luke leans forward and kisses Michael’s cheek roughly. “I’ll text you soon,” he whispers into Michael’s ear, like it’s a secret. He pulls back. “See you ‘round, Mikey.”

“See you around, Luke.”

\--

Michael can’t stop thinking about the kiss on the balcony. It haunts him, follows him around while he’s at work, or with Calum. He even starts to dream about it, and forces himself to wake up every time in case he says Luke’s name in his sleep. He doesn’t, as far as he knows, unless Calum just doesn’t say anything, too afraid to upset the off balance tension between them.

When Michael got home that day, Calum was quick to apologize, as he always was. Michael smiled complacently and forgave him, ignoring the demon in his stomach that clawed at his insides, reminding him that he was the guilty one.

Calum relaxed a little, let some of his irritability go, though it didn’t disappear. If anything, Michael got more distant since Luke kissed him on the balcony. But Calum seemed to ignore it, settling into it like it had become routine. He still kissed Michael good morning and goodnight, and made him coffee in a to-go mug before Michael left for work, even though Michael barely kissed back and only mumbled a “thank you.”

\--

 **Luke:** _when do you get off work today?_

Michael has to hide his cell phone under the desk at his cubicle, hiding the way his thumbs moved over the screen, just like he had in high school.

**to Luke:** _in an hour. why?_

Michael slides his phone between his thighs on the office chair and returns his eyes to the computer screen, where he’s punching in numbers to an excel file.

 **Luke:** _come over._

Michael smiles at his phone, softly. Michael and Luke had been seeing each other more frequently than before, two or three times during the week, rather than just once on the weekend. It was entirely Luke’s doing, pestering him with text messages and sending Michael photos of the teeth marks he left on Luke’s body. But Michael certainly wasn’t complaining.

 **to Luke:** _sounds good._

“Clifford!”

Michael’s head snaps up and he drops his phone immediately. His boss leans on the cubicle divider, and smiles down at him crookedly. “What you got there?” Harry asks, teasing in his voice.

Michael slides his chair forward, hiding his lap under the desk, so Harry can’t see the cell phone between his thighs. “I’m working on the June report,” he says, his voice small and unconvincing.

Harry pulls his hair up into a ponytail and laughs. Harry was the assistant to the CEO of Michael’s company, but he may have well been the CEO, due to the man in charge never being around and only working when he absolutely had to. Harry, on the other hand, spent hours past his shifts in his office, poring over files and papers that Michael didn’t even try to understand.

“That’s due before your shift is over,” Harry reminds him. “Have it in my office in thirty. No more funny business on your phone, okay?” he winks at him. “That husband of yours can wait his turn.”

Michael laughs nervously, and turns back to his computer, ignoring how red his face looks in the screen’s reflection.

\--

Luke smells like smoke most of the time, somewhere between weed and cigarette smoke, the scent stuck to him no matter where he went. Or used to, anyway.

When Michael met Luke after work, Luke smelled weirdly of something else. Clean, almost, though there were still undertones of cigarette smoke.

They’re making out on Luke’s bed, both of them shirtless already, a quiet Smiths song playing in the background. Michael tugs away from Luke’s lips. “Are we not getting high this time?”

Luke furrows his eyebrows. “I mean we can, if you want to.”

Michael shrugs and shakes his head. “Not if you don’t,” he challenges, watching the way the colors in Luke’s irises swirl.

Luke bites his lip and runs his fingertips up Michael’s side. “I’m trying to get clean,” he admits softly. “And I want to remember you this time.”

The demon in Michael’s stomach starts screaming, and pulls at Michael’s insides. Michael can only release a tiny breath before he’s kissing Luke again, this time with purpose.

Luke grabs Michael by the hips and rolls them over so he’s straddling Michael, knees braced by Michael’s thighs. He kisses Michael roughly, one hand on his jaw and another sliding down Michael’s stomach.

Michael’s breath catches and he breaks the kiss, and Luke pulls away, a red-faced grin on his face. It’s small and innocent, and so un-Luke that Michael has to reach up and touch Luke’s face to be sure it’s happening. Luke leans into the touch and smiles softly.

“You look beautiful,” it slips out of Michael’s mouth before he can stop it. He immediately feels guilty, for Calum, but also for Luke. Luke doesn’t even falter, smiling harder and rolling his hips down into Michael’s. Michael’s regret almost dissipates, his guilt washed out by arousal. He gets lost in Luke’s touch, gentle but calloused against his skin.

_**But there’s no way that there’s weight in the words that you preach.** _

Luke fucks him gently for the first time ever, his elbows braced on either side of Michael’s head, their foreheads touching, sweat mixing. Luke swears quietly, his lips pressed to the side of Michael’s face, pushing in and out of Michael slowly.

Michael’s head spins, he sees stars, his body catches fire when Luke whispers Michael’s name needily. Luke reaches to Michael’s side and interlaces their fingers, holding Michael’s arm down, and squeezing his hand softly before they come together, Luke coaxing Michael into it by murmuring “come for me, baby,” and stroking Michael with rough fingers. Luke, Michael finds, makes the most unholy expression when he comes sober. His eyes squeeze shut, his hair drops between his eyelashes, and his lips drop open, exhaling Michael’s name again. Michael whines from deep in his throat as he spills between them, coming back down to Earth.

Luke collapses onto Michael’s chest, and groans when he has to pull out of Michael. Like a gentleman, Luke cleans Michael’s chest with a rag from his bathroom. He climbs back into bed when he’s done, pulling his legs up to his chest as he lights a cigarette.

Michael lays on his back still, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of Luke’s cigarette crackling when he takes a drag.

“I thought you weren’t smoking in the house anymore?” Michael asks quietly, breaking the silence.

Michael feels Luke shrug next to him. “What Ash doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Michael snorts. “Famous last words.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke blurts out, his arms dropping to his sides.

Michael rolls over onto his side, facing Luke’s curled up body against the bed frame. The cigarette his pressed between his lips, his eyes on the wrinkled sheets. “What for?” Michael asks, afraid for the answer.

Luke pulls the cigarette between two fingers and he sighs heavily. “This was a mistake.”

“What was?” Michael hauls himself into a sitting position, the sheets falling down to pool around his waist.

Luke shakes his head and puts the cigarette out on the ashtray by the bed. “We shouldn’t have fucked sober.”

Michael’s heart falls like a stone to his stomach, anxiety finding its way to Michael’s gut. Guilt and regret wash over him, and he avoids Luke’s gaze. “I--I don’t think it was a mistake,” he stammers, not sure how to express himself.

Luke exhales like he was holding his breath. “Really?”

Michael looks up to find Luke hopeful, his face soft and innocent again. “I guess,” Michael mumbles, second guessing himself. “It felt good.”

Luke blinks a few times and then looks away. “Yeah, felt good,” he sounds uncomfortable, his voice wavering. “I guess you should go. Ash will be home from work soon.”

“Oh, right,” Michael feels like he’s being snapped back into reality. “I forgot, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

It feels awkward, tense almost, and Michael has to roll out of bed so he can’t feel Luke’s eyes on him anymore. He gets dressed while Luke lights another cigarette and watches him from the bed.

Michael sits on the end of the bed to pull on his socks and start lacing up his boots when Luke finally speaks again.

“When can I see you again?”

Michael smiles a little, despite himself. “I don’t know,” he says. “Soon, I hope.”

“Me too,” Luke’s fingers touch Michael’s back softly, and he rubs circles between Michael’s shoulder blades. “You’re beautiful too, you know.”

Michael’s shoulders tense and Luke’s fingers still. Michael straightens his back and lets out a forced laugh. “Shut up,” it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but it comes out weak.

Michael can feel Luke shrug behind him. “It’s the truth.”

Michael pulls away from Luke and stands up. Luke’s hand hovers in the air for a moment where it had been resting on Michael’s back, and then falls to Luke’s side. “I should-- I should go,” Michael stammers, taking a step backwards. He picks up his bag from the floor. “I’ll text you,” he mumbles, turning his back to Luke.

“Okay,” Luke says quietly. “See you.”

Michael leaves without saying anything, his heart pounding in his chest. After he closes the apartment door, he races down the stairs and into the parking lot, fear of some sort beating against his ribcage.

He unlocks his car and his hands are shaking. He’s moving fast like he’s running away from something, slamming the car door behind him. His heart is racing. He can’t think.

Michael drops his forehead onto the steering wheel, breathing hard. His fingers squeeze around his keys, sharp pain of jagged edges digging into the palm of his hand. The pain anchors him for a moment, but his heart doesn’t slow down.

He can’t pinpoint why he’s panicking. Weather it was what Luke said, or something else. He doesn’t know.

Michael lifts his head and it falls back against the headrest. He can’t move his hands yet, still clenching his key ring.

He stares out the windshield. Luke’s apartment building is lit by the setting sun, orange glow on the identical doors and windows. He watches as a car pulls into the parking lot next to him, and he sees a man get out, his unruly golden hair falling into eyes that look older than his body. The man immediately turns to the back seat and opens the doors, letting two pudgy-legged toddler boys tumble out. They’re identical, twins, Michael assumes. They’re wearing the same outfit, but one of the boys has longer, curlier hair, whereas the other’s is buzzed close to his scalp.

The man, the father, scoops up the long-haired twin, and the other clings to his legs. The father laughs when one of them says something, and the two kids’ faces light up at their father’s approval.

Michael averts his gaze. He imagines Calum with Michael’s children, clinging to Calum’s olive skinned legs and begging for his approval. Michael’s throat closes. His grip on the keys lax. It’s all he’s ever wanted, since he was nineteen. All he wanted was Calum.

**_When you’re claiming your faith, and you contradict your speech._ **

He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. He cries on the way home, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

He wipes his cheeks and puts in eye drops before he goes inside. He walks up the driveway with a weight in his chest. He wants Calum. He knows that. He needs to feel Calum again, to be reminded.

When he opens the door, Calum is stirring something at the stove. Calum barely looks up. “You’re home,” Calum says. Michael closes the door behind himself.

“Hey,” Michael says, dropping his bag. He slides out of his coat. “Hey, Calum, I--”

“Where were you today?” Calum interrupts. His back is still to Michael, his arm moving over the stove continuously.

Michael blinks in surprise, and steps towards Calum. “I went out with Casey after work,” he says carefully. “What do you mean?”

Calum sighs and drops the spatula. He turns around. His eyes are red and raw, like he’s been rubbing them for a long time. His cheeks are puffy and swollen. “No, Mike, I know you weren’t with Casey,” he snaps bitterly, his voice thick with emotion.

“What?” Michael’s heart skips. It starts to pound against his chest again, and he feels his body heat up in panic.

“I ran into Casey at the store,” Calum says. He turns the stove off. “I went out to make something for you. We’ve been having problems so I thought--” He huffs an angry breath. “I saw Casey there.”

Michael feels cornered. “Oh.”

Calum goes on like he can’t hear Michael. “I was going to thank him, for keeping you company, I know you’ve been going through a lot, with our marriage,” Calum looks at Michael pointedly. “And with work. But he said--you know what he said?”

Michael shakes his head uselessly.

“He said he hasn’t seen you in three months.”

Michael swallows the lump in his throat.

“So I started thinking,” Calum leans against the counter nonchalantly, like his tone isn’t cold. “Where have you been going for three months? And immediately, my mind went to the worst. Were you in some sort of support group? AA meetings? What if one of your family members were in the hospital?”

Michael’s hands start to shake. He can hear tears in Calum’s voice.

“But then I realized,” he whispers. “I realized there was no way,” he leans off the counter and takes a step towards Michael. “No way you wouldn’t tell me about that. So then I thought, what would be so bad that you wouldn’t tell me?”

“Calum, please,” Michael begs, reaching out.

Calum steps back with a horrified expression, like Michael would shock him if they touched. “Where have you been, Mike?” he asks, both his hands held out towards Michael, as if he can physically receive Michael’s explanation, but also keep their bodies distanced.

“Cal,” Michael’s voice shakes. “Please calm down.”

Calum’s hands drop and he slams his palm against the counter top. “Don’t!” he yells. “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

Michael flinches and steps back. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I--I didn’t know how to tell you.” Michael’s head is spinning. He feels like he’s going to faint. His mind is racing with excuses. “I--”

“Are you seeing someone? Is there someone else?” Calum asks. He sounds afraid, underneath it all.

“No,” Michael says reflexively. He wonders if he responded too soon. “There’s no one.”

“Then where the hell have you been?”

Michael looks at his feet nervously. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. He raises his hands up towards Calum. “Please, just listen to me--”

Calum’s eyes burn. “Tell me where the fuck you’ve been, Michael.”

Michael gnaws on the inside of his cheek momentarily, shaking his head and stepping away. “I haven’t been going out with Casey,” he says cautiously. “I’ve been out alone.”

“Alone?” Calum repeats, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.

Michael inhales sharply. “I’ve been going out alone.”

“Why?” Calum folds his arms incredulously.

Michael frowns, knitting his eyebrows together. He leans against the counter, his heart hammering in his chest nervously. “I just--we’ve been having so many problems,” he says uselessly. “I needed to feel. And drinking just--it made sense.”

_**So I sit here and listen to your tongue in cheek.** _

“What?” Calum almost instantly unfolds his arms, looking at Michael, confused.

Michael shakes his head and looks to the side, shifting his gaze. “I was afraid if you knew I was getting drunk alone you would worry too much.”

Calum’s shoulders slump, his demeanor sliding away, forgotten.  “You’ve been drinking alone?”

Michael shrugs and nods, looking down. “I didn’t want to burden anyone.”

Calum makes a small noise from the back of his throat. “Michael, you aren’t a burden.” Michael’s throat closes, and Calum closes the distance between them, placing both his hands on Michael’s tense biceps. “I wish you had told me.”

Michael continues to shake his head as Calum embraces him, strong arms around Michael’s shaking hands. “Fuck, I thought--”

“What?” Michael mumbles, placing his lips on Calum’s neck.

“I thought you were cheating on me,” Calum admits. He laughs humorlessly. “I never should have thought that of you.”

“Don’t say that,” Michael says immediately, his stomach churning. “I didn’t tell you anything, there’s no way you could have known.”

Calum pulls away and holds Michael at arms length. “I was selfish, I assumed the worst of you,” Calum presses, giving Michael sincere brown eyes, shining with apologies. “You have a problem, and I assumed that I was the victim. I wasn’t there for you.”

Michael closes his eyes so he can’t see Calum’s. “It’s okay, Cal. Please don’t feel bad.”

Calum pulls Michael back into his chest. “I just don’t want to lose you over this stupid fight,” he breathes, quiet, so Michael can only just hear it. “I’m sorry I let it get this far.”

“Don’t,” Michael says weakly. His stomach aches and his head starts to pound. “Don’t apologize.”

“I’m going to get you help, okay?” Calum squeezes Michael’s arm. “This is going to be okay.”

\--

Michael is drawn awake at some ungodly hour, blinking into the darkness blearily, wiggling away from Calum’s arm, looped around his waist.

He rolls to his side, searching for whatever woke him up. He discovers it’s his phone, lit up and buzzing on his nightstand.

Calum groans and rolls away from Michael, grumbling out, “Who the fuck is calling you right now?”

That’s a good question. Michael blindly throws his arm out to the source of the light, wrapping his sleepy fingers around his phone. He turns the screen towards his face, the light burning into his retinas and blinding him momentarily.

Once Michael comes to, he sees the name on the caller ID.

_**Luke H.** _

Michael is snapped awake, and he sits up in bed, careful not to disturb Calum as he grabs his phone and slips out from under the sheets.

He waits until he’s safe in the other side of the house before he answers the phone. “Luke?” he grumbles. “What the fuck do you want? I don’t even _know_ what time it is right now.”

“Mike?” Luke’s throat is scratchy and unused, thick and tired. “Michael, are you there?”

Michael sighs. “I’m here, what is it?” he snaps, sounding annoyed.

He hears Luke take heavy laden breaths nervously. “I-I’m sorry. I know it’s really late. I shouldn’t have called, I--”

Luke doesn’t sound like himself, not the usual composed, angsty Luke that Michael is used to. Michael frowns, softening. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so fucked, Michael, I’m so fucked.”

Michael’s chest flutters with panic, his mind instantly assuming the worst. Car accident, he was arrested, Ashton found out about Michael. “What is it? Luke, talk to me,” Michael leans against the kitchen counter to support himself, bracing for the worst.

“It’s you, Michael, fuck, it’s you,” Luke’s breath is heaving, like he just admitted to the worst crime.

Michael blinks twice, confused. “Huh?”

“Ashton and I were fucking tonight,” Luke says, his voice low. Michael ignores the bite of jealousy in his chest. “And I thought about you, Michael, fuck, all I could think about was _you_ and how I wished it was you.”

Michael’s head spins. “What are you saying?” he says, his voice weak.

“I don’t know,” Luke says quickly. Michael hears glass clink together in the background of Luke’s side of the line. “Fuck, Michael, this is so out of control.”

“Are you drunk?” Michael asks cautiously, running his fingers through his hair, making it stick up.

“Does it matter?” Luke challenges. “Not drunk enough,” he adds. “This is bad, Michael, it’s bad. Ashton and I, we have--” he swallows hard. “We have a life together, Michael, fuck, this is so out of control.”

Michael grunts. “I know.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Luke chokes. “I feel like I need you. I’m more addicted to you than I ever was to coke.”

Michael’s chest feels tight, and so does his throat. “I know what you mean.”

“What do we do?” Luke asks desperately. “Please, tell me how to make this feeling go away. I don’t want you,” he pleads. “I want Ashton, I want the life I have with him.”

“Luke,” Michael says slowly. He rubs his forehead. “I can’t fix this, Luke, I can’t fix how you feel.”

Luke makes a noise with his throat that sounds like crying, but Michael pretends like he can’t tell. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Stop,” Michael says immediately, his chest jolting with fear. “Don’t say that. You’re drunk.”

“Does it _matter_?” Luke whines. “I tried. Michael, I’m sorry. I don’t want this.”

Michael breathes slowly, cautiously. “You’re drunk,” he repeats, like it will change what Luke said. “You’re drunk. And we can’t do this. We said no feelings.”

“Fuck you,” Luke spits. “Fuck you, you can’t say that to me. You might not love me, but don’t pretend that you don’t have feelings for me, like we don’t have _something_.”

Michael shakes his head, even though Luke can’t see him. “Aren’t you in love with Ashton?”

Michael hears glass break on the other line, and Luke swears. “Fuck, Michael, of course I’m in love with Ashton,” he says. “More than anything, I’m in love with Ashton. He--he saved me, he makes me a better person,” Luke sounds panicked, he’s rambling. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to have feelings for you.”

“I can’t do this right now, Luke,” Michael glances up at the stairway. “Calum is in the house, he’s asleep, I can’t--”

“You love him,” Luke finishes. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, his shoulders dropping. “I wish I could help you.”

Luke swallows and glass clinks in the background again. “It’s okay,” Luke says, and it sounds genuine. “I’m not asking you to leave him for me, or anything,” he sighs, and Michael can picture him sitting in the dark, surrounded by bottles, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and the other holding his phone to his ear. “I couldn’t leave Ashton even if I wanted to.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael repeats.

Luke sniffles. “It’s okay,” he pauses, then asks quietly. “Does this mean we’re finished?”

Michael says nothing for a long time, mulling over the pros and cons. Pros: he continues to have good sex, good feelings, all of the reasons he was with Luke in the first place. Cons: He cultivates Luke’s feelings for Michael, and develops his own for Luke in the future. Michael is uneasy. For the first time he has the upperhand with Luke. Luke will go along with whatever Michael wants this time. Cautiously, he speaks. “What do you want?”

“I want to see you, one more time,” Luke says, carefully. “If that’s okay with you.”

Michael breathes slowly. “Yeah, that’s okay. I think I need that.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke sounds solemn. “I fucked this up.”

“It wasn’t going to last anyway,” Michael says, shrugging. “I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

Luke and Michael say awkward goodbyes, and Michael trudges back upstairs with his heart heavy.

Calum is sitting up in bed, smoking a cigarette. “Hey, who was that?”

Michael groans and rubs his eyes, tossing his phone back onto the nightstand and crawling back in bed next to Calum. “Insurance guy. Different timezone. Asked a bunch of questions about our coverage. I told him to fuck off.”

“That took a while,” Calum comments, and then inhales deep from the cigarette. “Weird.”

Michael grunts. He sits up next to Calum. “Can I have a drag?”

Calum looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Since when do you want a drag?”

Michael shrugs. “That call stressed me out.”

“You sure?”

Michael wines and reaches for the cigarette. “Please? I’m an adult, Cal.”

Calum rolls his eyes and hands Michael the cigarette, his chocolate eyes studying Michael’s lips as they wrap around the cigarette. “I don’t want you to start smoking,” Calum says quietly. “I can’t lose you to that, too.”

Michael exhales a puff of smoke and hands the cigarette back to Calum. “You aren’t losing me to anything,” he defies, leaning his head back on the headboard.

He feels Calum shrug weakly. “I guess not.”

“What time is it?” Michael asks, changing the subject.

“Five am,” Calum says, he breathes out smoke into the bedroom. “No use going back to sleep now. I work in three hours anyway.”

“That’s early,” Michael whines. “I wanna sleep.”

Calum laughs and puts out the cigarette. “Do you want to do anything else to pass the time?” he asks, rolling towards Michael and snaking an arm around Michael’s middle. “Anything at all?”

Michael grins and his hands find Calum’s sides as Calum throws a leg over Michael’s hips, his knees bracketing Michael’s thighs. “Nothing comes to mind,” Michael says, finding himself staring at Calum’s lips.

Calum hums and dips his head below Michael’s lips, his teeth nipping at Michael’s neck. “Shame,” Calum mumbles on Michael’s skin. “We have so much time to kill.”

Unwanted images of bite marks on Luke’s skin appear in Michael’s mind, and he bites down on his tongue. He focuses on the feeling of Calum’s body pressed against his own.

And suddenly, Michael realizes that Luke was right. This _is_ out of control.

\--

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee--”

Michael swears through his teeth, interrupting himself. He’s distracted by the noise Calum is making downstairs. Calum is making dinner for the two of them, a makeshift cheap date since the last few weeks have been hard on them both.

He closes his eyes and folds his hands again, starting over.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” he feels dumb. He has never once understood praying a rehearsed prayer to an empty ceiling--but Calum said it might help him think through things, and Michael has penance anyway. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, or some shit.”

“That’s not how that prayer goes.” Michael looks up to see Calum in the doorway, smirking at Michael, sparkle in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure the fruit of Mary’s womb was named _Jesus_ , not ‘some shit,’”

Michael feels himself smile. “Aren’t you cooking?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Calum walks into the room, and starts digging through his dresser. “I spilled wine on my shirt, I need a new one.”

Michael laughs. “And you’re coming in here making fun of _me_?”

Calum rolls his eyes and peels off the wet shirt. “Oh hey, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?” Michael gets off his knees and flops onto the mattress. “What is it?”

Calum pulls out a plain t-shirt. “So, you know Louis, the other artist I work with?”

“Yeah?” Michael says, sitting on his hands. “What about him?”

“He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow night,” Calum pulls the shirt on. “Not as like, a date. But he wanted to talk to me.”

Michael frowns. “What about?”

“He’s apart of the Alcoholics Anonymous group that meets downtown,” Calum says cautiously. “I didn’t tell him I was looking into it for you,” he adds quickly. “I just said it was for a friend.”

Michael’s stomach churns with guilt. “Oh, really?”

Calum nods and sits on the mattress next to Michael. He takes one of Michael’s hands and squeezes it. “I really want you to get help,” he says quietly. “I hate that I can’t help you all by myself, but I have to do my best.”

Michael’s eyebrows knit together and he stares at their intertwined hands. “It’s not your fault, Cal.”

“I know,” Calum says. “I just--I want us to be right again.”

Michael looks up at him with soft eyes. “Me too,” and he surprises himself with how much he means it. Soon, Luke and him will be over. And maybe AA meetings wouldn’t be so bad, even if the alcoholism was a front.

“I was reading online,” Calum continues. “It’s a good sign that we had sex last night. They say that intimacy fading is a symptom of a dying relationship.”

Michael kisses Calum’s temple hastily. “I love you,” he says quietly. “We aren’t dying.”

Calum’s shoulders fall a little, relaxing. “I love you too,” he says. He pecks Michael on the cheek. “I gotta go finish cooking,” he says. “I’m going to burn the mushrooms.”

Michael scrunches up his nose. “That’s the most domestic thing you’ve ever said to me, disgusting.”

Calum giggles, his face wrinkling beside his eyes. “Shut up,” he grumbles as he stands. “Finish praying, you twat,” he throws at Michael before leaving.

Michael gets back on his knees, but he doesn’t say any Hail Marys. The only thing he prays for is his marriage.

_**I know that when you sit and pray, you’re only praying for keeps.** _

\--

Michael invites Luke to his own home the night Calum is out. He’s not sure how to prepare, if it deserves to be prepared for or not, or if he should sit on the couch and watch TV until he arrives.

After Calum leaves for the night, Michael makes an unconscious decision to just pace instead of doing anything else, until the doorbell rings and gives Michael a jolt.

Luke is in an oversized jacket, a hood over his head to protect him from the cold. The wind rustles the hood when Michael opens the door, and Luke smiles at him weakly. “Hey,” Michael says. “Shit, you look freezing, come inside.”

Luke shuffles in and throws back his hood as Michael shuts the door behind him. Luke’s face flushes red and he steps into the foyer, eyeing the house with curiosity.

“This is where you live?” Luke asks, turning to Michael with a cocked eyebrow.

Michael shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “Yeah, why?”

Luke shakes his head and grins a little, his eyes wandering to the kitchen, it’s red walls encasing them like a warm hug. “It’s just…” he trails off as he walks into the kitchen. He runs a finger along their bread maker. “So domestic,” he decides. “Just not what I imagined for you.”

Michael laughs nervously. “Thanks?”

Luke grins. He looks at the picture of Michael and Calum that’s attached to the fridge with a magnet. It’s a photo that was taken on their wedding day, of them leaving the chapel, dumb smiles on their faces as they run between two rows of their friends. Luke’s grin vanishes. “This is him?”

Michael nods and nears Luke by the fridge. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Luke hums and averts his gaze. “Not how I imagined him,” he mumbles. He immediately dismisses the statement and moves on. He turns around sharply to face Michael. “So about the other night--”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Michael says quickly. “If it’s weird.”

Luke shakes his head. He extends an arm towards Michael, his fingers lightly brushing the side of Michael’s arm. “I was drunk,” he says. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Michael chews on his lips and looks at Luke, his blue eyes swimming with regret. “It’s okay,” Michael says, though he’s not sure if sorry means that Luke didn’t mean it.

Luke smiles crookedly, a familiar Luke gesture. “Do you keep any wine around?”

Michael’s shoulders untense. “Yes, god, that’s exactly what we need right now.”

Michael finds a bottle of wine in the cabinet and pops the cork off for the two of them. They sit on the couch and drink until they’re both tipsy, shoulders relaxed and laughs rolling off their tongues.

Michael realizes that he’s never really had a conversation with Luke before they fucked. The only times they talked were after. Luke looks beautiful when he’s tipsy, Michael thinks, noting the way his cheeks stain red and his lips get wet and giggly. Michael has to reach out, tracing the outline of Luke’s cheekbone with his fingers. Luke stills, and he’s not giggling about whatever it was before.

Luke’s eyes lock in on Michael’s. Luke puts down his wine glass. Michael cups Luke’s face and his eyes are tender and soft, memorizing Luke’s face the way he should have been from the beginning.

Michael feels an awful sort of tightness in his chest and a knot in his stomach. He’s only felt that for one other person, and it was Calum. “Luke,” Michael says, his tone urgent and serious. “We have to do this now. Fuck. I need you.”

Luke looks scared, fear showing it’s face in Luke’s eyes. “I don’t want to start,” Luke says quietly. “Once we start, we finish, and once we finish, we’re finished.”

The pad of Michael’s thumb runs underneath Luke’s eye. “I know,” he says. “It’s the way it has to be.”

Luke blinks twice and nods, looking down. Luke looks young, all of a sudden. Vulnerable. Luke’s bottom lip quivers, and Michael jolts forward, pressing his lips to Luke’s to stop them from shaking.

Luke’s hands jump into Michael’s hair, his fingers getting tangled in the roots, tugging desperately.

Michael keeps one hand holding Luke’s face still, and the other slides it’s way up Luke’s torso and lies on his chest. Luke’s lips work against Michael’s softly, his tongue sliding against Michael’s with undirected ease.

Luke’s hand falls from Michael’s hair to wrap around Michael’s thigh, tugging on it until Michael slides into Luke’s lap, straddling him. Luke groans, and it sounds broken.

Michael’s hips rock against Luke’s naturally, in a way that seems rehearsed, after all they’ve done together. Luke’s own hips move up to meet Michael’s, moaning again, desperate and needy. Michael runs his hands over Luke’s chest, making distance between Luke’s collarbones and the dip of his waist.

Michael’s fingers slide underneath the hem of Luke’s shirt, hiking it up as he slides his hands up Luke’s chest. They break the kiss momentarily to rid themselves of their shirts, and then reconnect their lips almost immediately.

Luke is loud, and moans whenever Michael’s hands are on his bare chest. The outline of Luke’s cock presses into Michael’s thigh whenever their hips roll together, just a little harder every time.

“Do you want to move upstairs?” Michael asks, breaking away and staring at Luke’s swollen lips. Luke nibbles on his lip piercing and nods.

Luke follows Michael to his bedroom, his hands on Michael’s hips, and his thumbs moving in slow circles. Michael kicks the bedroom door shut behind them both before pulling Luke back into a kiss, his entire body flush against Luke’s, pulling until they’re up against a wall.

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, his head falling against the wall as Luke sends kisses down his neck and across his collarbone. Luke hums against his skin, lowering his body so he can flick his tongue over Michael’s nipple.

Michael whines. Luke looks up at him as he drops down onto both knees. His teeth run along the hem of Michael’s jeans, and Michael’s hands fall to his waistband, pulling at the button desperately.

Luke frowns and pushes Michael’s hands away. “Let me,” he says lowly, his eyes never leaving Michael’s as he unbuttons his jeans. He shoves Michael’s pants and boxers down around his ankles, Luke’s lips attaching themselves to Michael’s hip bones, sucking and leaving a mark, pink and purple like Luke’s lips.

Luke smiles at it proudly before moving on, leaving small, wet kisses all over Michael’s thighs. Michael groans. “Please, Luke,” he says, his dick aching with arousal. “Please.”

Luke smiles, his eyes wide and innocent. He kisses the tip of Michael’s cock compliantly, and dips his head, swallowing Michael down.

Michael’s eyes flutter shut and his head slumps against the wall, focusing only on the way Luke’s mouth feels around his cock. Luke bobs his head expertly, his tongue working on Michael’s cock in the best way, hot and wet, making Michael groan.

Luke smiles and pulls off Michael, wrapping his hand around Michael’s cock and jerking it. Michael’s hips push forward, but Luke’s hand stops, pushing Michael’s hips back against the wall. “Wait,” Luke says softly. “Wait.”

Michael sighs and whines, looking down at a swollen-lipped Luke, his eyes focused on jerking Michael off. “I’m going to come,” Michael says quietly. “Do you want to fuck?”

Luke looks up at Michael, a sad look in his eyes but a smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “Fuck, yeah.”

It feels weird and incorrect to be pushed by Luke onto the bed that he shares with Calum, but Michael tries not to dwell on it for too long, and it’s hard to anyways, with Luke’s body on his own. Luke strips out of his pants too, his jeans falling to the ground and a pack of cigarettes falling from a pocket, forgotten.

Michael’s hands wander on Luke, his fingers tracing and memorizing all of his soft skin. Luke’s strong hands find their way to Michael’s thighs, spreading them open as Luke kneels between them.

He seemingly pulls lube out of thin air, and Michael’s head is too cloudy to care. Luke slicks up a finger and pushes it inside Michael without much warning, his long finger curling inside Michael.

Michael groans and pushes his head back onto the pillows. “Shit,” he whines. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to be ready,” Luke says, gently. “This isn’t going to be like other times. You should be ready.”

Michael isn’t quite sure what that means, but he lets Luke do what he wants, fingering him slowly, his fingertips not once reaching Michael’s prostate.

“Luke,” Michael whines. “I need you to do something.”

Luke smiles again and leans down, kissing Michael’s cock gently. “Sorry babe,” he mutters. He kisses it again. “I just want this to last.”

The air suddenly feels heavy, and it’s like up until that moment, Michael had forgotten that this would be their last time together. Michael and Luke lock eyes, Luke’s fingers sliding out of Michael.

Luke places both his hands on Michael’s hips, lifting him up off the mattress. Michael’s heart starts beating fast, his chest tight and his eyes wet. “Just fuck me already,” he whispers, and he wants to sound needy, but he just sounds broken.

Luke’s eyes flutter shut. Without looking, he pushes into Michael roughly. Michael bites down on his lip hard, and he’s pretty sure he tastes blood.

Luke moves in and out swiftly, lowering his body over Michael’s and holding Michael’s thigh against Luke’s waist. He presses his forehead to Michael’s, rocking their bodies together with the movement of his hips. Luke’s lips brush against Michael’s, but he’s too focused to put effort into a real kiss.

Michael breathes in Luke’s mouth, tasting wine and smoke. He feels sweat run down from Luke’s forehead and drip onto Michael’s cheek.

Michael reaches up with both hands, gripping at Luke’s back. He digs his fingernails into Luke’s shoulder blades, running them down Luke’s back and moaning.

Luke groans and snaps his hips up faster, fucking Michael harder than he had been before, and Michael’s vision goes blurry for a minute, whining out Luke’s name desperately. Luke hits Michael’s prostate with every movement, and Michael sees starts.

His head is spinning and he can’t control his body. He can’t think. The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them, before he can even determine if he means them. “Fuck-- Luke, fuck, I love you,” Luke’s hips stutter and he groans, his chest falling against Michael. Luke comes hard, crying out Michael’s name.

Luke moves slowly, but fucks Michael until he comes too, in lines between their stomachs, his cock untouched.

Luke pulls out and falls onto Michael’s chest, weak and sweaty. His shaky hand finds Michael’s, and their fingers intertwine.

They lay in silence, and Michael can feel Luke’s erratic heartbeat against his chest. Luke sighs loudly and closes his eyes. “Do you want me to pretend like you didn’t say that?”

Michael squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

Michael’s shoulder feels wet and he realizes that Luke is crying. Luke shakes his head dismissively. “I understand,” he says. “I should go.”

_**You’re a ghost at most, a set of empty bones.** _

Luke sits up, and so does Michael, catching Luke’s forearm. “Luke,” he says. “Luke, I’m sorry.”

Luke looks at him with wide, glassy eyes. His cheeks are red and tearstained. “So am I,” he says. He leans down and presses his lips into Michael’s temple roughly, and Michael feels more tears fall onto his face. “I love you too,” Luke says quietly, and then he’s gone.

He gets up off the bed, gets dressed, and just like the day Michael met Luke, it feels like a dream. And then Luke closes the bedroom door behind himself, and Michael is left alone on his bed, still covered in his own sweat and cum, and his face wet with Luke’s tears.

_**Searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole.** _

\--

It was anti-climactic, Michael decides, while he’s watching TV and waiting for Calum to come home.

It wasn’t nearly the best sex with Luke he’d had, and it wasn’t even the most emotional. His last night with Luke should have been different. It felt rushed, not thought through. But then again, wasn’t that all of his relationship with Luke?

Michael feels weirdly numb about the whole thing, not as sad as he had expected to be. He doesn’t miss Luke yet. But he imagines that it will hit him later, once him and Calum start to fight again.

As if on queue, Michael hears the front door handle jiggle. He hears Calum come inside, breathing heavy from the cold and pushing the door shut. He drops his coat in the foyer. “Mike?”

“Living room,” Michael calls out half-heartedly. He’s not interested in seeing Calum right now. But he has to put up a front.

Calum appears in the doorway, smiling down at Michael fondly. “Hey, how was your night?”

“Disappointing,” Michael says morosely.

Calum’s smile droops. “Oh?” he asks, flopping down onto the couch next to Michael. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Michael shrugs. “It was just boring. I’m in a shit mood, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Calum says, he puts an arm around Michael. Michael stiffly lays on Calum’s shoulder.

“How was dinner?” Michael asks, his eyes trained on the television.

Calum nods above him. “Really good. We talked a lot about the group and shit. It sounds really good.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael says, putting an effort into sounding interested.

“Yeah,” says Calum. “Louis says it could be really good for you. He told me about how bad alcoholism can get,” Calum’s tone gets solemn. “I’m really worried about you. I never want it to be that bad.”

Michael sighs heavily. “It won’t.”

“A lot of people say that.”

“I have it under control,” Michael says without conviction, his eyes falling shut. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Calum’ lips press into the top of Michael’s head, spreading unwanted warmth throughout Michael’s body. Michael shivers. “Okay,” Calum says compliantly. “I’m going to go change. Do you want to watch something tonight?”

“Sure,” Michael says heartlessly, lifting his head from Calum’s shoulder so Calum can stand. “Whatever you want is fine.”

Calum looks down at him with a worried smile. “Okay. Do you want to open a bottle of wine? Or would that be bad for you?”

“I can handle a glass of wine, Calum,” Michael bites, harsher than he means to be. He sighs. “Sorry. I’ll be fine,” he hoists himself up off the couch. “Go, change, I’ll open a bottle.”

“Okay,” Calum says, frowning. “Okay,” he repeats, and then leaves the room. Michael can hear him start to hum to himself when he reaches the top of the stairs, a typical Calum habit.

Michael wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes as he goes, yawning when he gets to the fridge. He yanks it open and stares at the contents, his eyes raking the tupperware and condiments before it lands on the bottle of wine he had started with Luke.

“Mike?”

Michael lifts his head. Calum is yelling from upstairs, his tone worried. Michael shuts the fridge door, his stomach dropping at the tone of Calum’s voice. “Yeah?” he yells back, stepping towards the staircase. “What is it?”

“What--” Calum sounds more like he’s mumbling to himself than Michael. “Can you come here a minute?”

Michael sighs, irritated. He starts marching up the stairs. “What? You couldn’t have waited,” he pushes open the bedroom door. “Until you came back--” he stops short, his words falling away.

Calum is standing in the middle of the room, looking down an object in his hand, a confused expression on his face. He lifts his head to meet Michael’s gaze, his eyes befuddled. “What’s this?” he asks, lifting up the object.

Michael’s stomach twists. It’s the pack of cigarettes that had fallen from Luke’s jeans. “I--those are cigarettes, Cal,” he says, his voice wavering. “I don’t get it.”

Calum stares at Michael, knitting together his eyebrows. “No, these aren’t mine though,” Calum shakes his head. “Did you buy cigarettes?”

Michael snorts. “Don’t be daft. Those _are_ your’s.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Calum’s face falls suddenly, like cold realization. His tone is different, suddenly unsure. “No they aren’t,” he says with more force behind his words. He stares down at the box, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t smoke Newports.”

Michael leans against the wall across from Calum, feigning confusion. “Yeah you do? Are you feeling alright?”

Calum’s jaw tightens. “I smoke Marlboros, you know that.”

Michael just swallows, tilting his head to the side, out of excuses.

“I don’t smoke Newports,” Calum repeats dumbly. His face pales. “I don’t smoke Newports.”

“Calum?”

Calum snaps, hurling the pack of Newports at Michael. They hit the wall by Michael’s head and he flinches away. “I don’t smoke Newports, Michael!”

Michael hugs himself. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Michael can barely hear over how fast his heart is racing.

“Who the fuck’s are those?” Calum screams, suddenly white hot with rage. “Don’t fuck with me this time, tell me who it is. I know you’re seeing someone, fuck, I was fucking _right_!”

Michael extends his hands, palms out. “Cal, please just calm down.”

Calum’s eyes burn. “No, Michael,” he seethes. “Don’t. Just for once, in your fucking life, be honest with me. Who are you seeing?”

Michael shakes his head desperately. “No one.”

“Michael, for fuck’s sake!” Calum throws his hands up in exasperation. “I caught you, it’s over, don’t you get it?” he gestures to the Newports on the floor, the lid popped open and the cigarettes splayed out on the carpet. “You fucked up! It’s over!”

Michael isn’t sure when he got a lump in his throat, but all of a sudden it breaks, and tears leak out of both his eyes. “Calum, I’m sorry.”

Tears spring into Calum’s eyes and his shoulders tense. “Who? Who is it? Tell me.”

Michael shakes his head, falling against the wall. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it fucking does,” Calum burns, stepping towards Michael. “Who are they? Where did you meet them? Is it someone I know, fuck, is it Casey?”

Michael’s throat is tight. He shakes his head weakly. “It’s not Casey.”

Calum still looks angry, his fists clenching and unclenching. Michael hopes that Calum hits him, he deserves it. “Tell me, Michael,” Calum says bitterly. “Who is he? Is he better than me? Did you get on your knees for him? Beg for his cock? Did you let him fuck you like a whore?”

Michael closes his eyes. “Calum, please.”

“No, Michael,” Calum feels closer, tighter, angrier. “I want to know. I want to know who it is that got to fuck you, that fucked you better than me. I want to know who fucked you in _our bed_ , Michael.”

Michael chokes. “It doesn’t matter who it is,” he shakes his head uselessly. “It’s over, Calum, tonight was the last night.”

“What was his name?” Calum presses.

Michael sighs, and opens his eyes to see Calum standing close to him, his fists by his sides and his eyes leaking with anger. “Luke,” Michael exhales. “His name was Luke. But it’s over. I ended it tonight.”

“Well,” Calum laughs bitterly. “That just makes it all fine then, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t, but--”

“How long?” Calum interrupts. Suddenly, he looks afraid to hear the answer, though he doesn’t unclench his fists.

Michael shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well guess, you fucking _bastard_.”

Michael flinches. “Eight months,” he says, a stab in the dark. He doesn’t know for sure, too many of the nights blur together in a haze of cocaine and weed. “Give or take.”

Calum backs away, his fingers sliding out of fists. “Jesus, Christ,” he lifts a shaking hand. He keeps backing up until the back of his knees hit the edge of their bed. “Holy fuck. Oh, my god.”

“Calum, listen to me, please--”

“Do you love him?” Calum interrupts. His shoulders have fallen, but he hasn’t stopped crying. He looks up at Michael with vulnerable eyes, telling him he doesn’t want the answer. He looks weak, beaten, and Michael’s head feels hot with guilt.

Michael’s lips suddenly feel dry. He hugs himself tighter. “Calum, I love you.”

“Don’t,” Calum shakes his head, his eyes fluttering shut and forcing tears to cascade down his cheeks. “Just tell me if you love him more than me.”

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, I’m not going to see him again.”

Calum’s forehead looks clammy. “I’m going to be sick,” he mutters, and then he lurches forward, pushing past Michael into the master bathroom. Michael doesn’t bother following him, turning his face the other way, squeezing his eyes shut when he hears Calum retch into the sink.

“I fucking hate you,” Michael hears, echoing off the tile and the bathroom walls. Then Calum throws up for real, like his body is rejecting the truth. Calum sobs afterwards, quiet and muffled.

Michael sinks to the floor, his knees pulled up against his chest. Calum cries in the bathroom for a while, each sob a little louder than the once before. Then he screams, thick and angry. Michael hears something break against the porcelain, and then it’s silent.

Michael hides his face in his knees until presumably, Calum comes out of the bathroom.

“You need to leave,” Calum says, his voice monotone and low. It sounds flat and lifeless and so unlike Calum that Michael has to look up to make sure it’s him. Calum is standing over him with his arms around his torso. “I need you to leave,” he reiterates.

Michael lifts himself up off the ground and Calum takes a step away. “Okay,” Michael says, his voice weak and shaky. “Do you want me to come back after tonight? Tomorrow?”

Calum shakes his head, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know, Michael. I don’t know. I just can’t see you right now.”

“Okay,” Michael sighs. “I know,” he pauses, then looks to the left. “Can I pack a bag?”

“Do whatever,” Calum says flatly. He fiddles with his shirt for a while, but eventually walks to the other side of the room to sit on the windowsill. He stares out the window with a dull expression, not moving or reacting to anything Michael does.

Michael packs a bag in a hurry, throwing together a few shirts and his toothbrush. He doesn’t pack a lot, hopeful that he’ll be coming back soon. He doesn’t even bother to think about where he’s going now, his mind is set on overdrive.

“I was out tonight for _you_ ,” Calum says quietly. Michael turns around to look at him. Calum is still staring out the window. “I was looking into AA meetings for you. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

Michael says nothing, his heart in his throat.

“I guess that was a lie then, right?” Calum says. “You were never drinking. You never had a drinking problem. Fuck,” he mumbles. “I’m so stupid. I saw this coming, but I fucking believed you.”

Calum looks over at Michael with wide doe eyes. “Will I ever stop letting you walk all over me?” Michael is at a loss for words, so Calum presses on. “I just don’t get it. Did I not love you enough? Did I not fuck you enough, not fuck you _good_ enough? Didn’t I always tell you that I loved you? I was there for you. Since high school, Mike. High school.

“I waited for you,” Calum breathes. “When we graduated, and you said you didn’t want commitment, I waited. While you were sleeping around in college, I waited. I thought my whole life was leading up to putting you back together and creating a life with you. I thought everything I did was secondary compared to the relationship we deserved. You are my _everything_ , Michael. Everything. I just don’t understand.”

Calum slides off his wedding band. “Six years,” he mumbles. He twirls the ring around his index finger. “All of it down the drain,” Calum makes a splashing sound with his mouth, and then shakes his head, curling his finger and gripping the ring in his fist. “I hope it was worth it, Mike, I really do,” he hugs his arms to his chest again. “I hope that _Luke_ fucked you good. I hope he fucked you better than I ever did. God knows if I ever will again.”

Michael opens his mouth but Calum stops him. “Don’t even bother,” he mumbles. “Just leave. I’ll call you if I’m ready to talk. Don’t call first.”

So Michael leaves. But before he makes it out the front door, he grabs the bottle of wine from the fridge, and drinks the whole thing before he even gets in the car.

\--

Michael isn’t sure how long or how far he drives, drunk enough to faze in an out of focus. It’s a wonder he makes it to Luke’s front door without crashing or falling down the apartment building stairs.

_**You’re shallow, and empty.** _

He sobers up when he sees Luke’s door, remembering the other times he was there, remembering the smell of smoke. His knuckles tense before he knocks, realizing too late that it’s past ten at night, far past the time appropriate to show up.

He hears voices on the other side of the door, and suddenly Luke is before him, drying his hands off with a dish towel, for fuck’s sake.

He looks flustered, but when his eyes meet Michael’s, they go wide, his skin turning white as a bedsheet. His eyes widen with fear. His lips part in surprise.

“Mike,” he says, his tone disbelieving. “What are you--”

“Who is it?” A strong voice comes from the apartment, followed by squealing, high pitched and foreign to Michael. He almost can’t place it.

“Uh,” Luke calls over his shoulder, but his eyes stay on Michael’s. “Just a friend, just a sec,” he lowers his voice dangerously, his tone panicked. “You can’t be here, Michael.”

Michael’s throat feels tight, and he can’t speak for a while, shaking his head vigorously and shifting the weight on his feet. “Calum knows, he kicked me out.”

Luke’s gaze soften, but his tone doesn’t. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come here, I can’t--”

“Luke?” A hand snakes around Luke’s waist and a head pops up over his shoulder. “Who is this?”

Luke starts blinking fast, glancing at the man behind him, nervously smiling. “An old friend, from school,” he says, he laughs shakily. “We met in bartending school.”

Michael is suddenly all too aware how little he knows of Luke. Bartending school? “Yeah,” Michael chimes in, smiling convincingly. “Luke and I had our first mixology class together.”

The man bobs his head, golden curls bouncing. Michael gets the weird sense that he’s seen him somewhere before. “Well, come inside, I’m Ashton, I don’t know if you’ve heard--”

“Daddy!”

Luke looks panic stricken again as he’s pushed out of the doorway by two pudgy hands at his knees. A little boy, not older than four or five stumbles out in front of Michael. He takes no notice to Michael on the doorstep, turning around to glare up at Luke. “You’re letting all of the cold inside! James is crying again!”

Luke smiles down at the boy, glancing up at Michael before dropping to his ankles. “Okay, go lay back down, okay? We’re going to come inside.”

The boy sticks out his lower lip. “But I’m awake now.”

Luke sighs. “Go lay down, Jesse. Dad or I will be in to make sure you’re warm again, okay?” Luke reaches out and takes a piece of the boy’s unruly black hair, tucking it behind one ear.

Ashton is smiling down at them both fondly, forgetting Michael is standing there with a dumb look on his face, watching the whole thing.

The boy compliantly runs back between their legs, and Luke stands back up, wiping his palms on his thighs. “Sorry, he--”

“Come inside,” Ashton interrupts, beckoning Michael in.

Luke looks pale again, looking between Michael and Ashton with a horrified expression. Ashton doesn’t notice it, but Michael does when it’s shot at him very pointedly as he passes through the threshold. Luke shuts the door behind all three of them.

“I didn’t, ah,” Michael clears his throat. “I didn’t know you had a kid,” he says awkwardly, hovering in the foyer across from Luke and Ashton.

Luke glances over at Ashton with a loss for words. “We have two, actually,” Ashton says proudly, nudging Luke’s shoulder. “Twins.”

“Oh,” Michael says, glancing at the ground. “How old?”

“Three,” Luke says, his tone clipped. “Ash, do you think you could go get us some drinks? I want to catch up with Michael, see what’s up.”

Ashton smiles, a smile on his face that says he thinks he knows something. He leaves the foyer and traipses into the kitchen, out of earshot. As soon as he’s gone, Luke is in his space, seething. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I had nowhere else to go,” Michael backs up until he hits a wall. “I didn’t know you had kids,” he repeats, dumbstruck.

Luke sighs and rubs his forehead. “Michael, you can _not_ be here. The kids are awake, Ashton is going to want to know who you are--Fuck!” he mumbles, more to himself than to Michael. “We met at school, but why are you here?”

“I was just in town,” Michael says, his voice wavering, but he’s gotten used to lying on the spot to Calum. “Car broke down?”

“Sure,” Luke sighs, “Whatever. Why are you actually here?”

Michael shakes his head uselessly. “Calum found your cigarettes,” he says quietly. “He knew they weren’t his or mine. He figured it out. And kicked me out.”

Luke’s shoulders fall and he steps away from Michael. “I’m sorry,” he sounds sincere. “I didn’t mean to do that to you.”

Michael shrugs. He means to say it’s alright, but he’s interrupted by Ashton returning, pressing a beer into his hand. “What are you standing around for? Come, sit,” Ashton pulls Michael into the living room, and pushes him onto the tan couch. Luke follows awkwardly, sitting across from Michael in an arm chair. Ashton sits on the floor between Luke’s legs, and hands him a beer.

Luke takes it gratefully, popping it open and taken a long swig from it.

“So what brings you here, Michael?” Ashton asks, bright curiosity on his face. “Is everything alright? It’s pretty late to show up at a school friend’s house,” There’s no malice behind his words, though they are laced with concern. Luke looks pale again.

“My car broke down,” Michael says quickly. “Ran out of gas as soon as I got off the 405. Had to push it to the gas station. I would have stayed in a motel, but I remembered Luke lived around here, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Ashton frowns. “Well, I’m glad you came here, the motels around here are shitty. You can stay here tonight, no worries,” he pauses, then reconsiders. He looks up at Luke. “That’s alright with you babe?”

Luke smiles down at Ashton, a flicker of genuine fondness in his eyes. “Yeah, of course, I wouldn’t turn down a friend,”

Michael smiles gratefully. “Thank you,” he says genuinely. “I mean it, thank you.”

“Of course,” Ashton smiles wider, if possible. “Though the couch is kind of lumpy, my apologies.”

Michael laughs, not because it’s lumpy, but because he knows. He can feel the spring in his knee the way he had when he rode Luke on this couch, weeks ago. Though it feels like years. He takes a gulp of the beer, swallowing down the memories. They seem inappropriate to bring up, even if not lout loud.

It’s a little awkward after that, but Ashton chats his ear off, babbling on about his management job at the community center. He tells Michael that that’s where he met Luke, after overseeing a support group for recovering drug addicts. Luke turns a little red, looking away, and Ashton rubs his calf comfortingly. Ashton tells Michael that he’s been dating Luke for almost a year, but seriously for only eight months, which tells Michael that Luke has been seeing Ashton since before they started fucking.

Michael ignores the jealousy that stings his gut, and smiles at them, telling them both that that’s lovely. Ashton says he’s proud of Luke, and Luke turns even redder, mumbling something about how it was for the kids.

Michael has had enough of the beer to feel brave enough to ask. “Yeah, Luke, you never told me you had kids,” he looks at Luke pointedly. “How about that?”

Luke hides his face sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbles.

Ashton’s cheerful face turns somber. “We haven’t had they boys for very long,” he says, speaking for Luke. “They’re my sister’s boys, but she was only sixteen when she had them. She couldn’t keep them, obviously,” he explains, his shoulders tensing. “Lauren and I had to fight the father and his family for custody after they were born. He won, his family had money.”

Luke reaches down and rubs the muscles in Ashton’s shoulders. Ashton smiles up at him gratefully. Michael frowns.

“But the prick got arrested for drunk driving and possession of meth and cocaine,” Ashton continues. Michael notices Luke biting his lower lip and looking away. “So I got them this year. They’re a little bit skittish, because the way their father was. But they really took to Luke, after he moved in. We’re a family now, it’s great.”

Luke squeezes Ashton’s shoulder. “Ashton was really brave being a single father,” Luke says quietly, staring down at Ashton. “He was brave to take me in, with my past and all.”

Ashton’s eyes are steely as they look to Luke’s. “You know I trust you. And so do they.”

Luke shakes his head and smiles up at Michael apologetically. “Sorry I never told you. They weren’t even technically my kids until three months ago.”

Michael nods, swallowing down all this information. It makes sense, he decides. The cheerios he saw on the apartment floor, the child safety locks, the sudden decision to get clean. Michael wishes he had been smarter and figured it out.

He clears his throat. “So you two…” he trails off. “Are you married then?”

Ashton shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says. “Not yet, anyway,” he looks up at Luke with a bright smile. “We want to get married once the boys are older, and they understand what’s going on. But right now our lives are too hectic to plan any kind of wedding.”

Michael swallows the lump in his throat when he remembers Calum. He swallows down the rest of his beer. He grunts and is suddenly very interested in the carpet. He feels Ashton and Luke’s eyes both boring into his head.

“Everything alright?” Ashton extends, sounding confused.

Michael sighs and shakes his head. He looks up at Ashton with a weak smile. “I’m just tired, is all,” his mouth keeps moving without him asking it too. “And my husband and I are having some problems at home,” he admits, then bites his tongue. “We’ll be alright though.”

_**And you’re filled with regret.** _

Ashton smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “I hope you work it out.”

“We will,” Michael says optimistically. He glances up at Luke. Luke’s eyes are glassy and his jaw is tense, but he’s not looking at Michael.

Ashton sighs and pats Luke’s thigh. “Well I’m going to head to bed,” he says. “Do you think the boys fell asleep?”

Luke looks like he’s being dragged unwillingly from his thoughts back to reality. He sighs. “I hope so,” he rubs his eyes. “James hasn’t slept the whole night since school started.”

Ashton hums and hoists himself off the floor. “If he wakes up tonight, I’ll handle it,” Ashton kisses Luke on the top of the head. “Night babe.”

Luke smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Ashton turns to Michael. “Night, Michael. Sleep well, alright?”

Michael nods. He watches Ashton walk down a hallway, and retreat behind a bedroom door. He hears Luke sigh, and he turns his head back towards the blond. He’s staring at Michael sadly. “I’m sorry if that was weird,” Luke says honestly. “Being around Ashton and me and all.”

Michael shrugs. “I don’t know what else I expected when I came here.”

Luke bites his lip, his tongue playing with his lip ring. “I’m sorry I never told you about the boys,” he says quietly. “I was afraid you’d be freaked out and leave me if you know I had kids.”

Michael pulls his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins. “It’s alright,” he mumbles. “I understand why you didn’t tell me. I’m glad you’re getting clean because of them.”

Luke stands from the chair and crosses the room, sitting down next to Michael. “They’re really good for me. So is Ashton,” he sighs and looks over at Michael, his eyes studying Michael’s jaw. “You can only stay tonight, you know that right?”

Michael nods. “I don’t even know why I came.”

“I’m glad you did,” Luke says immediately, surprising Michael. “I know you love Calum, I’m sorry he found out.”

“Not sorry that we did it?”

Luke holds his breath, thinking. “No,” he releases. “No, I'm not. I’m sorry.”

Michael suddenly feels hot all over. He pulls his legs away from his body, letting his arms drop to his sides. Luke is close, his eyes drawing Michael in. “Kiss me,” Michael says, his eyelids heavy. “Please.”

Luke’s voice sounds tight. He thinks about it, then untimately shakes his head no. “I have a family. I want to be with Ashton.”

“And I want to be with Calum,” Michael retorts, leaning in. “And I want you to kiss me.”

Luke doesn’t fight it, pushing his body forward and pressing his lips to Michael’s. Luke’s lips are soft and familiar, and Michael feels a surge of emotion in his chest.

And suddenly, they’re gone. Luke pulls away sharply, a hurt expression on his face. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Michael feels stung, but he looks away, nodding. “I know.”

“I have to man up and be a father,” Luke says quickly, hastily, like he feels the need to explain himself. “I can’t do this. I have to let go of you.”

Michael’s chest aches, and he feels like he’s falling. “I know,” he repeats.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Luke says. He reaches out and takes Michael’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I hope Calum forgives you. I wish I could be that person for you, Mike, but I just can’t.”

Michael nods. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke apologizes again. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” Michael says, finally looking over at Luke. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight.”

Luke smiles sadly. “I owe you one for almost ending your marriage.”

Michael shrugs again. “If it wasn’t you it would have been someone else,” he says, his tone bitter and honest. “I got it all wrong.”

Luke just frowns at him sympathetically before standing. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Goodnight, Luke.”

\--

Michael leaves Luke’s apartment before Luke or the kids wake up. Ashton is up, moving around in the kitchen.

Michael passes by, and Ashton stops him.

“I know you didn’t meet him in bartending school,” Ashton says lowly, catching Michael’s arm. “Luke told me who you were.”

Michael feels heavy, and his mouth goes dry.

“Luke went through a lot, when he was on coke. He was fucked up. I don’t blame him for it,” he pauses. “And I’m sure you had your own demons to fight. So I forgive both of you. I love him, a lot.”

Michael nods, at a loss for words.

“Your husband, I hope he is as understanding,” Ashton hesitates, then sighs heavily. “Seeing you isn’t good for Luke.”

Michael feels struck. He just nods.

“I don’t want to see you around him again,” Ashton says, but he frowns at Michael sadly. “It’s nothing personal. It hurts him to be reminded what he was like when he was high. You need to leave him alone now, alright?”

Michael feels a lump from in his throat, but he nods compliantly. “Okay,” he breathes. “Listen, I’m sorry--”

Ashton lets go of Michael’s arm and raises both his hands. “I know you are,” he says. “So is Luke. I’m not angry.”

Michael has no idea how Ashton isn’t angry, or even a little bitter, but he takes it anyway, grateful. “Thank you.”

“Go,” Ashton says. “Leave before he wakes up. Go fix things with your husband.”

\--

Michael stays in the hotel that he first started having sex with Luke in. It feels like slinking back, in a way, in a gross clammy way.

He gets a call from his job and he gets fired for missing work that day. He doesn’t feel a thing. He feels numb.

He sits on the motel bed, staring at his phone for two weeks, hoping Calum will call. He starts to feel disheartened. Maybe Calum is never going to call.

Michael gets by with the clothes he had packed and food from the fast food restaurant by the motel, but it feels shitty. It blurs by, each day fading into the next with no purpose. He misses Calum every night, most nights spent in front of the TV and crying, ignoring the movie that’s playing. Other nights he misses Calum in other ways, one hand wrapped around his cock desperately searching for some form of intimacy again.

By the third week, he starts to drink from the mini fridge. He’s drunk more often than not.

He finds a rosary in the bottom of the duffel bag. He cries, and throws it at the wall. It snaps, the beads falling to the floor and rolling away.

Michael feels shattered and puts the rosary back together with a cord he buys downtown. The rosary is most likely Calum’s, so he begins to wear it all day, and sleeps in it too. Whenever he feels the cross press into his chest, he’s reminded what he’s waiting for.

_**I think your chest must be heavy from that cross on your neck.** _

That makes him cry, too.

Calum finally calls at the end of the third week.

When Michael hears the ringtone, he thinks that he’s dreaming. He stares at the phone in disbelief for a while, until he snaps out of it and finally answers.

“Cal,” he says, his voice thick and raw from being unused.

“Hey, Michael,” Calum’s voice is music to Michael’s ears, even if he sounds worn out and sad. “I’m sorry it took me so long to call.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Michael says quickly. “I’m glad you called.”

There’s static on the other end of the line, and then Calum sighs. “We should talk in person,” he says. “I have a lot I want to talk about.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, of course.”

“Where are you staying?” Calum asks. “We should meet somewhere in town.”

Michael tries not to read into it that Calum doesn’t want him to come home, opting to stay on the positive side. “I’m staying at the motel on 34th,” Michael says. “By the Wendy’s with the broken lights?”

“I know where that is,” Calum says. “There’s a coffee place a few blocks down. I can meet you there, if that’s okay? Are you busy?”

“No, no I’m not busy,” Michael says, already pulling on his shoes. “Do you want to meet now?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you,” Calum sounds unsure, his voice small.

“Of course,” Michael says. “See you in a few?”

“Yeah, sure,” Calum says. “See you.”

\--

Calum is already at the coffee place when Michael gets there. Michael can see him through the window, staring out at the city with a thoughtful expression on his face. He hasn’t seen Michael yet, a beanie over his red hair to hide the fact that he’s barely washed it. He’s wearing the rosary, but it’s tucked under his shirt so Calum doesn’t see it.

_**You only wear ‘cause you’re wary of what comes next after your death.** _

Michael’s chest is full of nerves when he opens the cafe door, his heart hammering in his chest. Calum looks up when the bell above the door jingles. His brown eyes are wide and unreadable as they meet Michael’s. He raises a hand halfheartedly.

Michael crosses the store to stand by Calum’s table. “Hello,” Calum says, blinking twice and Michael, and then placing his gaze on the table top. He has a coffee in front of him, steaming and untouched. Calum looks very young, vulnerable and worried. “Sit, please,” he says quietly.

Michael sits, awkwardly placing his hands on the table, folded together. “It’s really good to see you, Calum,” Michael says tightly. Calum looks up at Michael sharply, tears springing up over his chocolate eyes.

Calum nods curtly, as if agreeing, then looks out the cafe window. “I’m really, really pissed at you, Michael,” he says. “You did a really bad thing.”

Michael nods, and stares at the table. “I know.”

Calum lifts his hands from his lap and places them both on the table. When he moves them away, his gold wedding ring sits where they once were, shining and bright. Michael’s stomach lurches. Then Calum says the one thing that Michael was hoping, praying, that Calum wouldn’t say, “I want a divorce.”

“Calum, wait, please--” Michael begins, ready to explain why Calum should rethink it.

Calum raises a hand, stopping Michael. “Save it,” he says. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking. I spent the last three weeks wondering what made you want him more than me. I thought, what? Did I not love you enough? Did I not do enough for you? Was I too harsh when we fought? Did I not give you what you wanted in bed?”

Michael is already shaking his head, but Calum ignores him.

“But I don’t think it was me,” he says, knitting his eyebrows together. “I think that you’re a coward. I think that we started fighting and you panicked. And you ran away. You ran to the one thing you knew I couldn’t handle, and that was another man.”

“Calum--”

“Please,” Calum says tightly. “Just--Let me.”

Michael bites down on his tongue.

“I want you, fuck, I really want us to work,” Calum says, shaking his head. “I fell in love with you when I was fourteen. I’ve been in love with you for eleven fucking years. Married to you for six. That’s a long time.”

Michael feels his eyes water.

“But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Calum says. “And I think that that’s all there is too it. It’s been a _long_ time. And maybe that doesn’t mean anything. It just means that maybe it’s been _enough_ time.”

Calum finally looks up at Michael. His eyes are red, but he hasn’t cried. “I need to be with other people,” Michael feels that like a punch to the gut. “I need to know what it’s like to feel loved again. And here isn’t the place for that anymore, Michael. I know you know that.”

Michael’s eyes leak, and tears roll down his cheeks. He would wipe them away, but his arms feel too heavy. “Calum,” he pleads. “Please, don’t do this.”

Calum shakes his head. “I deserve better.”

“You do,” Michael says quickly. “You do deserve better than me. But I love you, you have to believe me.”

Calum shakes his head more, holding onto his coffee mug and gripping tight. “What evidence do you have to show for that, Michael? How would I know that?”

Michael immediately reaches to his chest, yanking at the rosary until it’s over his head and on the table. “I haven’t spent a day since you kicked me out not regretting every second of what I did. And even when I was doing it, even then. Even then I loved you, more than I ever cared about him. I was blind, I was wrong, I was stupid. You have to believe me. All I ever wanted was you. And I fucked up, I know that, but please. You have to know that I love you.”

Calum stares at the rosary with wide eyes. “I know that you love me,” he clarifies. “I don’t doubt that. But that isn’t enough if I don’t _feel_ it.”

“I can make you feel it,” Michael says immediately. “If that’s what you want.”

Calum tenses up. “Not like that,” he amends. He places a shaking hand over his chest, still staring at the rosary. “I need to feel it here, Michael.”

Michael is at a loss for words, staring at Calum hopelessly. Calum sighs and drops both his hands. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

Michael’s chest shakes, and suddenly, he’s panicked. “Calum, please, don’t go.”

Calum stands, picking up his coffee cup. He looks down at the wedding ring and the rosary. Then he looks at Michael, staring up at him with tears running down his face. Michael thinks, that just for a moment, he sees second guessing in Calum’s eyes. And then it is gone.

“I love you, Michael, I really do,” he looks like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t, and he walks past Michael, to the door of the coffee shop. He opens it, ringing the bells, and exits. Michael watches him walk down the street, and then he reaches his car. Michael watches him get in, start the car, and pull away, driving until he is out of sight.

_**You’re all alone. You poor, unfortunate soul.** _

Michael sits at the cafe table for hours, staring at the ring and the rosary and not moving. The workers force him to buy something, so he lifelessly orders a black coffee that he doesn’t drink.

When the cafe starts to close, Michael finally feels like he’s snapped out of it. He puts the rosary back on, and Calum’s ring on his right hand.

He leaves the coffee shop and walks into the cold streets. It’s late, and it’s starting to snow. The winter winds bite at his cheeks.

He walks the city streets with his head down.

He walks until he’s in a familiar parking lot, one that makes him think of Calum more than anyone. He climbs the steps to the church, and pulls open it’s double doors.

It’s low lit, but there’s a choir rehearsing inside.

Michael takes a seat in the pews in the back, staring up at the gold ceiling in awe. He can’t feel his fingers. He wonders when he stopped crying.

He feels the cross press into his chest and he flutters his eyes shut.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i'm so proud of this one. i can't believe my little baby is out into the world now.
> 
> you can follow me on [tumblr](http://gothcalum.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/rivergoth) and chat me up anytime!  
> not like chat me up. like talk to me. what


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